


disregard the details of this strange elusive world

by Shadowcrawler, unwindmyself



Series: cause in our greatest conquest we are what fate depends [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Bisexual Female Character, Crossover Pairing, Cunnilingus, Dimension Travel, Execution, F/F, Female Friendship, Femslash, Femslash February, Fingerfucking, Foreplay, Height Differences, Kindness, Queen Sif, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Tending to Wounds, Tribadism, Violent Justice, gratuitous headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcrawler/pseuds/Shadowcrawler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After tracking Lorelei to Meereen, Sif finds herself the recipient of Dany's hospitality, in many forms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. don't take this night to heart, it's just a passing fancy

**Author's Note:**

> The story is set at an undetermined point after _Thor: The Dark World_. Loki has been exposed as a traitor and liar and Sif has taken the throne.
> 
> It is also set at an undetermined point after Dany takes the throne in Meereen but before too much shit starts going down, so very closely post-season 4 in the show's timeline.
> 
> This happened because it seemed very logical, once we started thinking about it.

It’s been several days since Lorelei escaped from Asgard’s dungeons and slipped into this realm using one of Loki’s secret portals. Sif, now the Allmother, insisted on following her despite the protests of her council - “you know as well as I that I am the most qualified to hunt her down and deliver justice” - and has just arrived in this strange realm. Her horse, Herleifr, used to the portals, swishes his tail in response to a fly buzzing at his flank.

She sighs, cursing both Lorelei and Loki for bringing her to such an oppressively warm place. Loki has yet to face punishment for his myriad crimes, but though she knows he was instrumental in freeing Lorelei and sending her here, Sif must focus on Lorelei first. As she’d explained to Fandral and the other council members, this is a realm that few Asgardians have journeyed to before, so they have no idea of the extent of damage Lorelei could do. Loki would have to wait.

And the only thing that will give her greater pleasure than executing Lorelei will be to see Loki stand trial for treason, murder, and a host of other crimes. She herself had been the first to see through Loki’s deceptions, and together with a few allies they had exposed his masquerade and dethroned him. Sif had taken her rightful place on the throne of Asgard, and all has been well until the prison guards had sounded the alarm a few days previous. Now, she gazes at the sandy hills in the distance and, unsure of where to head, urges Herleifr forward. _Perhaps I will encounter someone who will give me aid._

As they move closer to the hills, she wonders at the apparent alliance between Loki and Lorelei. The instant Lorelei’s disappearance had been discovered, she had stormed down to the dungeons herself, to be greeted by Loki’s amused smirk. “Lost something?” he’d asked, eyes glinting.

“What do you know? Where is she?” she’d growled at him.

He’d shrugged, utterly carefree. “Am I my fellow prisoner’s keeper?”

Eventually, after several hours of interrogation - the physical force had eventually worked; the knife torture less so, for as she could have told the imbecile who attempted it, that only made Loki chuckle and beg for more - he’d confessed to having interacted with Lorelei multiple times but refused to say exactly where she’d gone. Even now, the memory of his twisted speech makes Sif grip the reins tighter out of frustration.

One of the other prisoners, fortunately, had mentioned Loki’s secret portals throughout the realm, and one of the healers had found one that had been recently used not long after that. So Sif set out, refusing the offer of a guard. “This is my duty as Queen of Asgard and as someone who has dealt with Lorelei before,” she’d said, and though the journey thus far has been a bit lonely, her thirst for vengeance drives her forward.

The terrain is nothing like she or Herleifr are accustomed to, particularly the hills they must crest, but he is willing and brave and eventually they arrive at the top. Sif squints against the sun at the grand-looking city in front of her, with winged guardians at its gates and a formidable wall of rock enclosing its borders. The large pyramid structure in what seems to be the center of the city reminds her a bit of Asgardian architecture.

Wary of how the city might treat its visitors, she has Herleifr pick his way down the hill and then wait at its base until she sees a group of travelers headed for the gates of the city. She slips into their ranks so seamlessly that even they don’t notice she’s there until they have passed into the city.

Once inside, she dismounts and, leading Herleifr, sets about her task of asking those around her about Lorelei. “Have you seen a woman with flame-colored hair, who can persuade all men to do her bidding?” The first few look at her as if she is mad, and she sighs and turns from them before they can attempt to waylay her from her goal. After far too long, a frightened-looking woman suggests that she seek an audience with the new queen. “S-She may be able to answer your question!” the woman stammers, and then darts away from Sif as if Sif might kill her where she stands.

Sif blinks. _These people are quite strange. I wonder where I might find this “new queen”?_ She glances at the pyramid, then guides Herleifr towards it. With no other clues, this at the very least is large and grand enough to house a queen. Her suspicions are confirmed when she overhears someone mention “the queen’s audiences in her pyramid,” and she feels smug at her own cleverness.

Once she reaches the entrance to the palace, she turns to Herleifr and murmurs, “You have done well today, my friend. Thank you. I will ensure you have a good rest before we set out again.” Herleifr nudges her affectionately with his head, and she scratches beneath his mane before opening the door and stepping inside.

She finds herself in an antechamber, with a door leading into what a quick glance confirms as the throne room. That room is much like her own, although cooler and darker due to the stone walls and fading sunlight cutting through the windows. This throne is elevated similarly to Asgard’s, its stone steps no less grand than their metal ones. There is, however, a man kneeling on one of the platforms. Sif raises an eyebrow but remains where she is for the moment. The the other people in the room are two men standing behind the queen, a woman on the next platform down, two guards, and another man who looks as if he’s been here for a while.

The kneeling man seems to be talking to his queen, and while she can’t catch every word Sif gathers that he is there based on a dispute with his neighbor over land ownership. She frowns; no Asgardian would dream of bringing such a trivial matter before their queen. But this young woman, with hair paler even than most Asgardians’, merely sits on her throne, apparently listening to the man’s concerns like there is nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps this is what the woman meant by “an audience with the queen”? _But it’s so strange._

She takes the opportunity to collect herself while waiting. As apparently these people are unaccustomed to questions about strange redhaired women who have power over men, she should perhaps start by introducing herself and her position. From there, she should be able to explain that Lorelei is an escaped criminal and must be intercepted. With any luck, perhaps they have not only had news of Lorelei, but have managed somehow to capture her themselves. While this would spoil the fun of the chase, Sif can admit it would make it easier to dispose of her.

A growl jolts her from her thoughts. “I said, next petitioner,” repeats the guard, glaring at her. She nods respectfully at him and enters the throne room.

Upon getting a better look at the queen, Sif sees a woman who cannot be any older than Thor's young friend Darcy, but occupies her throne in a way that suggests she is as worthy of her position as Sif is. The men behind her seem to be her advisers, though one is clearly older than the other (his greying hair reveals his age). The other young woman might be a handmaiden or somesuch, her darker skin reminding Sif of Heimdall. She comes to the foot of the stairs and nods respectfully, unsure of how to proceed.

Off of Sif’s nod, that young woman gives a small, perfunctory smile and opens her mouth to speak. “You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen,” she says in a clear, sweet, yet firm voice. “Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.”

Sif blinks. _Are all the people of this realm saddled with such an unruly string of titles?_ “Greetings,” she says, still uncertain but trying to appear confident. “I am Sif Allmother, Queen of Asgard, and I come seeking information about a fugitive who escaped from our realm several days ago. Her name is Lorelei, and she has the terrible power to force men to do her bidding with her voice alone. I have come to retrieve her and was hoping you or your people might be able to assist me.”

The older man steps forward to confer with the queen in a whisper; both of their expressions read more as confusion than anything else. The other man seems puzzled, though whether because of Sif’s words or manner is unclear, and the other woman looks to be on the verge of questions but too polite to ask them. When the queen turns her attention to them, possibly silently asking if they have any answers, both shake their heads.

Finally the queen lifts a hand and says, “I mean no offense, but we have no knowledge of this Asgard or of this matter. Would you be so kind as to start your explanation over again?” She’s wearing an expression like she’s not sure whether she’s just humoring her guest or dealing with a serious matter she truly doesn’t understand, but to her credit she’s tempering that confusion politely.

“Ah, my apologies. I should not have assumed you would know of Asgard, as I am not even sure that we’ve traveled to this realm before. Allow me to explain. Asgard is a realm located above yours, in what you know to be the sky, and we can pass to your realm and others through portals. That is how Lorelei escaped, and I have come in pursuit of her.”

She moves a few steps closer to the queen and continues, “She was imprisoned twice already for treason against Asgard, and both times has managed to escape. She will not get another chance. Her ability to sway men to her aid makes her volatile and I must find her, and quickly. She is tall and has flame-colored hair and it is likely she arrived in the desert, not far from here.”

Dany is used to playing things off as ignorance, as it often serves a purpose, but right now she is confronted with the realest ignorance she can recall. Realms in the sky? Portals? A woman with magic over men?

Foolishly, she knows, her thoughts stray for a moment to Daario, still out of her sight on a mission, and then to her other sellswords and soldiers and people. She doesn’t know how any of this is possible, but she has worked too hard for her people’s freedom to allow some crazed sorceress to jeopardize that.

“Grey Worm,” she says, beckoning said man to her side. “Speak to your men and see if anyone has heard tell of such a thing.”

Grey Worm nods politely before descending the steps and exiting the chamber; Barristan murmurs, “Your Grace, I…”

“If there is someone in my city who holds this power, I want her stopped,” Daenerys says decisively. She turns her full attention to Sif and says, “If she is here, I will offer you assistance in finding her.”

Sif nods. “Thank you. Take caution, however, in sending your men to search for her. Her voice is enough to tempt any man, no matter how good his heart. That is why I have come alone, as I am the only woman in Asgard capable of stopping her.”

“What do you require, then?” Daenerys asks, furrowing her brow.

“I have witnessed firsthand the havoc Lorelei can wreak when foolish men attempt to subdue her,” warns Sif. “Therefore, I must ask if you have any female warriors or women suited for battle. If not, I will face her myself.”

Dany’s frown deepens. She knows full well how tough many of the women who follow her are, how capable of many things they are, how resilient, but none have been trained as warriors. There are none she would feel comfortable throwing into a situation as unknown as this one. “It is my deepest regret that I cannot suggest anyone,” she murmurs. “I take it that your Asgard’s priorities are different than those of the cultures here, but it is unfortunately rare to equip women to fight for themselves and rarer still to teach them the skills needed for battle.”

Sif chuckles at Daenerys’ assumption. “Asgard is...improving in that aspect,” she says, “but for a time I was one of a handful of female warriors throughout its entire history. And one of its best, regardless of gender,” she adds, a note of pride creeping into her voice. “I can more than handle Lorelei and any retainers she has managed to ensnare. But I appreciate your offer of aid, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, Queen of Meereen, Mother of Dragons.” She lowers her head respectfully for a moment. She knows she’s missed more than a few titles, but she hopes the other woman will not take offense.

Perhaps in spite of herself, Dany smiles, and it seems to reach her eyes for a moment before it fades. As if prompted by this sudden warmth, the other woman steps fractionally closer and prompts, “Your Grace will serve,” her tone careful and kind.

Sif smiles. “Very well. Asgard thanks you, Your Grace, and I bid you farewell, and assure you that I will have Lorelei well under control just as soon as I am able.”

“I wish you luck,” Daenerys says with a slight, friendly nod.

 

* * *

 

When she has a choice in the matter, Dany often opts to dine in private, or mostly in private, and on days when she’s been bombarded with as much as she has today, that option seems almost a necessity. Grey Worm and another of his Unsullied stand outside the door to her chambers, and Missandei is seated at her table with her, but once the meal is served, she sends all others away and they eat in near-silence.

She can tell that Missandei has questions for her, of course; Missandei has many more questions than she ever gives voice to, for though she knows that she is allowed she still does not know sometimes how to begin. Questions about these unusual circumstances, about the altogether mysterious woman who burst in full of strange information and warnings only to leave as quick as she came. They’re questions that Dany has herself, in truth, but she’s even more unsure of how to ask them.

So instead, they sip at their wine and nibble at their food and stare into the distance as they ponder the implications of both the situation and how it may affect their suddenly-much-larger worldview.

Their plates are nearly cleared and their glasses certainly drained when Grey Worm comes bursting into the room, worry etched on his face. “The woman warrior from before has returned,” he announces, slipped into his native Valyrian. “Her enemy has gathered warriors of her own and she had no choice but to retreat.”

Daenerys’ eyes go wide. “Warriors?” she asks, cursing the way her heart is in her throat.

“She is outside, if you would like to speak with her,” Grey Worm says.

“Of course,” Dany murmurs, nodding urgently.

Sif, having overheard the whole exchange, doesn’t wait for Daenerys to come to her. Instead, she enters the room, not giving a second thought to her disheveled appearance (though she had tried to wipe most of the blood off her face during the return journey). “Your Grace!” she calls. “I am afraid Lorelei has worked far more quickly than we thought. I fought hard, but she and her men drove me off. I am sorry.”

It takes Dany a moment to register all of this, but when she does, what she first says is, “You have no need to apologize -” Here she falters, fixes Sif with a concerned gaze. “What would be the proper address?”

Sif blinks, caught off guard. “Ah, Lady Sif is fine,” she says. Truth be told, she has yet to become accustomed to being the Allmother. But she has been Lady Sif since she was very young - that is a comforting title.

“Lady Sif,” Daenerys repeats slowly. “I have no doubt that you fought valiantly, and there is no shame in needing to regroup.” Her expression and tone are steely as she adds, “Who are these men that Lorelei has ensnared? Could you describe them?”

“They were disorganized, clearly not trained soldiers,” begins Sif, “and they were not the ones who gave me the most trouble. That was Lorelei herself. Individually, they seemed like capable fighters, but it was obvious they had not trained together. One of them, perhaps the leader, had dark hair and a beard.”

Dany flinches. “Did you see the weapons he fought with closely?”

“I caught only glimpses. The hilts of his knives seemed to be figures of women.”

“Daario Naharis,” Dany breathes out.

“I gather you know him.”

“He leads the company of sellswords you doubtless saw fighting,” Daenerys explains. “They have been in my service these last weeks.” It’s clear from her tone that there is more to say on the matter and that it will not be said at this point; Missandei, who has been watching all of this with concern, takes this time to lean forward to whisper something in her queen’s ear, and she changes her expression and adds, “Would you take supper? It is the least I could offer.”

At her words, Sif feels her belly clench and suddenly realizes that the last meal she ate was hours before, in Asgard. “Thank you, I will gladly eat with you,” she says, smiling at Daenerys. “Though I should not eat more than my share, especially since I have yet to properly protect this realm by ridding it of Lorelei.”

After a glance at what’s left on the table, Missandei springs up, gives a slight nod as she offers, “I will see to it,” then hurries out the door.

Sif glances after her, then turns back to Daenerys. “I assume she is your...handmaid?” she asks, uncertain. “I am unsure of the customs here.”

A shadow of uncertainty flickers across Dany’s face for a moment, but when she speaks again, her confidence has mostly returned. “After a fashion,” she says. “Missandei is my attendant, my scribe, my translator, and my friend. To apply only one description would be a disservice.”

“I see. My apologies, I meant no disrespect,” says Sif. “And these others…?” She nods to Grey Worm and the other man guarding the door.

“I did not take it as such,” Dany demurs, softening her tone for a moment. “I daresay ours is a rather unique relationship, I know that I incline toward those with the women who others would assume only my servants. And as for them…” Here she pauses, casts a smile toward the men. “I hope they would consider me a friend, too, but they are soldiers foremost and make up a large portion of my guard and army.”

Sif nods. “I am the last person to be critical of someone who wishes to treat those society would consider below them as their equals. I will do my best to protect them.”

“You have my thanks,” Dany says, wholly sincere. “I strive to do that myself, and to enable them to better protect themselves. That is true of all of my people.”

“You say that as if there is a reason to want them to protect themselves.” Frowning, Sif continues, “Is there a greater threat than Lorelei that your people face?”

“You spoke before of Lorelei’s… powers,” Daenerys begins, studying the other woman’s reactions. “That she was able to tempt all men.”

“Yes,” replies Sif, raising an eyebrow. “Your people might call it magic, I suppose. Men are powerless to resist her voice when she speaks. Many of my people have similar powers - our former prince, my friend Thor, could summon thunder and begin a rainstorm just by willing it. And I myself am gifted in battle. Lorelei has simply chosen to use her gift for ill purposes.”

Dany nods. These are stories like those out of a tale for children, but given that Sif sits before her real as anything she has no cause to doubt. And given her own dubious gifts, she has even less room to hesitate. “Such things are not wholly unheard of in this world,” she begins, and she nearly launches into a more detailed explanation before it strikes her that it might come across as bragging and holds back. “Why I mention it,” she says instead, “is that there are those in this world who use not magic but force and their own social position to enforce their power over others, who would subjugate others and treat them as livestock.”

“Ah. I am familiar with these sorts of people. I find them despicable.” Sif curls her lip. “To abuse one’s power in such a way - I cannot abide it. I would see them all torn apart, left as food for scavengers as an example to those who would be cruel to others.”

“Oh.” The syllable comes out more a wisp of sound than a word, an involuntary murmur, and Dany’s gaze stays fixed on Sif’s face as she continues, “My army - the Unsullied, they were enslaved as children, stolen from their families and castrated and molded into soldiers by the cruelest means and to serve whichever horrible master bought them.”

As Daenerys speaks, Sif’s expression grows more and more horrified and angry. “May those who did that to them never find true rest, and may their spirits be eternally tormented by fire when they pass into the afterlife. I grieve for your men, but I am glad they have come under your protection. How did that happen?”

Before further explanation can be given, Missandei comes back into the room, announcing, “A more suitable supper will be sent up presently.”

“Thank you,” Dany says, then nods for Missandei to retake her seat before launching into the tale, beginning with Astapor before stepping back to the events that had followed her marriage to give Sif a more complete context. She spends time explaining her time in the Dothraki Sea and in Qarth, explaining her dragons and her family’s predilections (so much for not bragging, she idly thinks, but she can’t very well leave details out that might clarify things), then with Missandei’s occasional help elaborates on what has happened since she began her conquest of Slavers’ Bay and with it Meereen. At some point food is brought for their guest, but never once does Sif’s attention seem to wane.

Really, Sif should perhaps be more surprised about some of this information than she is, but having been to dozens of realms in her fairly short life has given her an appreciation for the sometimes dramatic differences between them and her home. Daenerys is a gifted speaker and Sif finds herself drawn in by her words. Even the mention of her dragons barely gives Sif pause, and then only to clarify the exact nature of the animals they are speaking of (Asgard has no beasts matching their exact description, but Sif is able to understand what Daenerys means after a bit more explanation). She is also inspired by the other woman’s obvious compassion for those around her, and her drive to better their lives. It reminds Sif a bit of Thor, though of course his response to injustice, much like Sif’s own, is to fling himself at it weapon-first. Once Daenerys seems to be done with her tale, Sif smiles at her and says, “I have always thought that courage can be best shown in battle, but it seems there are many kinds of courage. Yours is very different from mine, Your Grace, and I respect you all the more for it.”

Dany suddenly reaches for her goblet of wine, then takes her time in bringing it to her lips to give her a chance to formulate a response. What she settles on is a surprisingly sheepish, “Thank you, Lady Sif,” followed by a rushed, “Having seen all that I had, I had no choice but to act, and even then it is not so spectacular.”

“It is,” insists Sif. “You have suffered so much, and yet you work to better the lives of those in unjust circumstances. I doubt many who have lived through what you have would have that response.”

“Khaleesi,” Missandei interjects, leaning forward with an apologetic smile. “The hour has caught up with me, I’m afraid. If I am not needed further, I would retire for the evening.”

Dany reaches to lay a hand on Missandei’s arm. “Go and sleep,” she agrees. “Thank you.” For assisting with this matter how she can and for keeping company when they were both anxious, but neither reason needs elaborated on.

“Of course,” Missandei says, giving a polite nod and a murmured, “Good night, Your Grace, Lady Sif.” With that she makes for the door, sharing whispers with the guards, and Daenerys and Sif are left alone once again.


	2. I’m an open book, clear and white as a morning skyline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif and Dany eat and talk together, eventually acting on their mutual attraction to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elements of Sif's backstory were inspired by Norse mythology, but most of it is unconfirmed headcanons. This includes the discussion of Sif's past relationship with Loki. (Probably there were knives involved. There was a quick reference to that in the first chapter.)

“Would you take more wine?” Dany asks softly, nodding to the pitcher.

“I will, thank you.” Sif takes the pitcher and fills her cup, then takes a sip. “I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality, as I had intended on retrieving Lorelei and then leaving for Asgard earlier today.”

“I will not pretend to know how such things often go,” Dany says with a smirk, “but it is only right to offer comforts to a guest, particularly one on such a noble mission.”

“Still. Asgard thanks you.” Sif smiles at her. “And some would say that it is less a noble mission, and more one bent on revenge. Lorelei and I have...a history.”

“As befits a queen and one who would do treason against her realm,” Daenerys muses, recalling Sif’s earlier story.

Sif chuckles. “Yes, indeed, although it goes beyond that animosity which would be between a loyal warrior and a traitor. In the past she took control of a man that I...well, we were in love, for a time, and she forced me to watch him fall under her spell. I understand how painful that is.” She looks at Daenerys, hoping her words convey her sympathy.

Dany takes in a breath. _It must just be for the fact that Sif has been in her place that the nature of that place is obvious_ , she tells herself; _how couldn’t it be obvious, what with the way her face has been known to betray her in these matters?_ she knows. “Thank you,” she finally murmurs, because there is no point in denying. She thinks of adding some caveat about how it isn’t exactly love (it is certainly a different sort of love than she’s known before if it is, but that it’s something that holds powerful sway over her is undeniable) but there is no point in that, either.

Sif’s not especially good at handling others’ emotions, but she knows enough to know when she’s upset someone. Grappling for another topic so as not to upset the other woman further, she finally lands on, “You seem a good ruler, Your Grace. You remind me of my friend Thor, in fact. He would have been a good ruler too, if he had not given up his birthright - but then, I should not complain because if he had accepted it, I would not have become Queen.” She smirks. “Well, I might, if he had ever noticed my feelings for him. Thor is a good man, but not a particularly observant one. But he is noble and kind-hearted and fiercely protective of what is right, much like yourself.”

Dany’s eyes go wide, and instinctively she reaches to touch her cheek as if to confirm the way she’s flushed as well as hide it. “I… thank you,” she murmurs once again, feeling suddenly shy. She does not go hunting for praise, but she trusts Sif’s sincerity in offering it and that is rare enough that she’s both taken aback and flattered immensely. She blinks several times and takes a long swallow of wine before adding, “That story sounds fascinating. How… how exactly did you fit in the royal line, then?”

Laughing, Sif takes another sip of wine. The wine is making her much more talkative than usual. “Thor is the firstborn son of our former king, Odin, and it was long assumed that he would ascend to the throne. But he was rash and aggressive and needed to learn the true meaning of kingship, so Odin banished him to the realm of Midgard for a time. Thor’s brother Loki had always been jealous of him, and attempted to take the throne from their father in Thor’s absence, but when Thor returned and Loki disappeared and was presumed dead after their confrontation we assumed it would all be over. But Thor had fallen in love with a mortal woman and he was never the same after that.”

She pauses for another sip and then notices that Daenerys is looking confused.

“Mortal?” she asks in a whisper, head tilted.

“Ah, my apologies. Asgardians are...we do not grow old and die, not as mortals do. We can continue on for millenia as long as we are not killed in battle. Midgardians do not have this luxury - their lifespans are but a blink of ours. Thor’s love affair with this Midgardian woman will end in tragedy, but he always did favor passion over reason.” Smiling fondly thinking of her friend, Sif continues, “He trusted his brother far too much as well. He swore to us again and again that Loki was truly good and loyal, but we learned the truth when Loki re-emerged on Midgard shortly after his disappearance, attempting to orchestrate an attack on the realm. Thor was sent to retrieve him, doing so only with the help of other Midgardian heroes. We sent him to our dungeons as punishment for his crimes, but when another threat surfaced for Asgard and all the realms, Thor lobbied for Loki’s usefulness in thwarting the intruders. And though he was, Loki was ultimately working for his own gain, using his illusions to convince Thor that he had sacrificed himself and take Odin’s place on the throne of Asgard, after Thor declined kingship.”

At this point, Dany is certain her expression reads as abject horror. The story is just as fantastical as all of those that Sif has told, but this one also contains unsettling, if somewhat indirect, parallels to her own family’s history, and that leads her to murmur a simple “Seven hells.”

“Indeed.” Sif’s unfamiliar with the expression, but she understands the sentiment behind it. “We spent many moons under Loki’s leadership, with his masquerade escaping the notice of even those closest to Odin. I myself was taken in for a time, but my brother Heimdall and I both sensed that something was not right and began to meet in secret. Eventually we, along with some of our allies, were able to unmask Loki as the liar and traitor he is, but by then our former king was long dead. As Loki had proved himself unfit to rule-” Here she cannot help the ungraceful snort that escapes her. “-and Thor chose to remain on Midgard with his love, the royal line had ended. I was chosen to rule.”

“I see,” Daenerys says. “You doubtless earned the throne, then. I’m sure your people are grateful to have you and not a selfish impostor.”

“I hope,” replies Sif. “I wish to be worthy of guiding and protecting them more than anything. Asgard means everything to me, and I will die for it.”

“You have passion,” Dany whispers before she can think better of it.

Sif raises an eyebrow, smiling. “I do. It’s clear that you do as well. Passion is an admirable quality.”

“And one that I find many people lacking,” Dany says with a small, sad sort of smile. “I find often that they are overly concerned with their own interests, and no one else’s.”

“Ah yes, I know that all too well. Loki is like that, and Thor once was, and Odin became that way in his last few years.” Sif sighs. “It seems that men are especially susceptible to such selfishness.”

“Yes,” Dany agrees. “I imagine you’ve heard those apologies that come not for what they’ve done but for the fact that they’ve been caught at it.”

“Naturally.” Sif’s smirking now. “I spent my youth surrounded by men. Thor has finally learned to apologize, but I’m unsure if his father ever did, or his brother ever will.”

Dany nods. “My sun-and-stars - my husband - he seemed to learn in time, to an extent,” she muses, solemn for a moment before an edge creeps into her voice, “but so many I have known, my brother, my - the men who surround me at court, seem not to be able to.”

Sif makes a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat, one she probably wouldn’t have made if not for the wine, and then, unable to think of a better diversion, says simply, “You have lovely eyes.” Because Daenerys does - Sif’s been looking into them all evening. She’s never seen eyes that color before and she’s fascinated.

“Oh,” Dany exclaims, suddenly self-conscious though she knows that’s absurd. It’s not as if she’s never heard that, but rarely does it come without the added acknowledgment of how they’re _Targaryen eyes_ , like all of her forbears. This way is infinitely more personal and therefore appreciated. “I’m flattered by your attentions,” she finally manages to say, smiling in a way so sincere that it feels foreign. “You’re lovely, too. Your hair is…” What almost slips out is a confession that she’s been fantasizing, no two ways about it, about running her fingers through it at least since Sif told her last story, so she holds her tongue.

“Thank you.” Sif chuckles. “It was not always this color. Once, when I was a child, it was golden as the sunlight, and I was very proud of it. But Loki was always a troublemaker, and one night as I slept he cut it all off - I suppose to show his jealousy, as his mother Frigga often paid me special attention. She loved both her sons equally, but since Thor was his father’s favorite, Frigga felt it necessary to make it up to Loki, I suppose. He never could handle anyone taking what he believed to be his.” She rolls her eyes and continues, “I made him very sorry for his childish trick. And when my hair grew back, it was this color. I am, in a way, as proud of it now as I was before.”

“Oh!” Daenerys exclaims, frowning deeply in sympathy. “That was horribly cruel and I’m sure undeserved. It’s beautiful, I promise.” She doesn’t realize what she’s said until she’s said it, which leads to her quickly rushing to say, “It sounds like something my brother would have done. Or that he would have done if he wasn’t so vain about my appearance.” She hasn’t so much as thought of those particular tendencies of Viserys’ in quite some time, so doing so makes her shudder. “My beauty was one of my only values in his eyes,” she explains with a heavily sarcastic tone.

“Men are shallow,” replies Sif with a snort of disgust. “They see only the surface of things. You are beautiful in many ways, Daenerys Targaryen.”

Dany is blaming the wine for the fact that she can’t control the shock on her face, but she has at least enough grace to - after a polite nod that acknowledges the compliment - change the subject away from one that she suddenly feels would surely lead to her embarrassing herself. “You said earlier that it was uncommon in your land for women to become warriors,” she offers instead. “How, then, did you find yourself on that path? If I may ask?”

“It wasn’t always my path,” Sif says, smiling as she takes another sip. “As children Thor and our friend Fandral and I were terrors, pestering the palace guards to teach us battle moves and Gulbrand, the weapons-maker, to fashion us small wooden swords of our own. I wanted nothing more than to become Asgard’s greatest warrior...but I was told again and again that as a girl, my destiny lay in the healing arts. So, when Thor and Fandral were sent to battle training, I was sequestered in the healing rooms. But, of course, a child unwilling to learn something can be quite stubborn, and I pride myself on my willpower.” She smirks. “And I was a poor student on top of being reluctant to learn - my gender did not dictate my talents. Finally my teachers pronounced me wholly unsuited to the healing arts and I was permitted to join the boys in the training arena. It quickly became obvious where my true talents lay. While Odin was still alive, I was considered one of his best and most trusted warriors.”

Dany tips her head as she listens, nodding and pursing her lips in sympathy and smiling with Sif does the same. “And what were the reactions?” she asks curiously.

“At first, many of the men and boys were scornful or hostile. But I put so many of them on their back that they soon came to a different conclusion.” Sif’s practically preening; she enjoys recounting this part of her past. “And of course, I proved myself in battle many times. Even the most contemptuous of men will look differently at you when you return with the head of a bilgesnipe slung across your back.”

“I can imagine,” Dany muses, not for the first time envisioning how Sif must look when doing battle and pressing her thighs more firmly together in reaction. She can’t begin to understand what beast Sif speaks of, but the general premise of what Sif might have done to prove her worth as a warrior is simple. “I’m sure it was difficult to resist - to, to deny. To deny your strength.”

“Ah, but I knew I could prove them wrong,” counters Sif. “So I did.”

“Admirable,” Dany says faintly, offering a smile. “I’m sure there were those who found you so then, too. Who admired you.”

“I’ve had my share of admirers, yes. Some more worthy than others.” Sif pauses and then decides that the wine has made sharing this secret of hers acceptable. “Loki and I had...several encounters when we were younger. I do not regret it, but I avoid mentioning it when possible. Especially now that we know Loki’s true nature, to reveal my past with him would be...unseemly.”

Dany pulls the slightest of faces. “I’m sorry for that,” she says. “That you tangled with someone who proved himself so undeserving.” She’s aware of how that might fall, so quickly she adds, “I haven’t had that exact difficulty, but there are those who... well, I have been counseled against my involvement with Daario.” She doesn’t say who has been responsible for that counsel, as that’s in part a separate issue, but it’s meant as sympathy. That, and an opportunity to vent that she is hardly ever afforded. “A mere sellsword is not _fit_ for a queen.”

Sif makes what she hope is an appropriately sympathetic face in return. “I would think there are few who _are_ worthy of you,” she says.

“He is… pleasant is perhaps the wrong word, but the only one I can think of, he is pleasant enough,” Dany mumbles, sure she’s gone bright red. “And you must know of the needs we women have.”

Sif laughs, not unkindly. “I do indeed. Truthfully, my trysts with Loki were motivated by much the same needs. Though,” she adds wryly, “I hope your Daario is better at fulfilling them than Loki was.”

“Oh, he claims a very certain reputation and lives up to it,” Dany admits, trying not to giggle.

“Good. I am glad for you.” Sif takes note of the fact that, while Daenerys appears to feel something for Daario, it doesn’t appear to be an exclusive bond. This is a relief, because while some Asgardians scoff at the idea of faithfulness, Sif would hate to come between lovers with an understanding of monogamy. Because, though she’s been trying to put her own feelings aside and focus on her mission, she can’t deny that Daenerys is a beautiful woman - and it’s been a while since Sif has bedded someone. The temptation to touch Daenerys, to kiss her, is strong, and the wine likely isn’t helping her curb her urges.

But instead she settles for saying, “And I envy you. I have had no one to share my bed for a long time, and the man I wanted as of late...well, in the end his affections lay elsewhere.” She’s talking, of course, about Thor, but she doesn’t see the need to divulge further. It’s still a bit too raw to talk about.

“I’m sorry,” Dany murmurs. “Love lands where it will, and so long as it remains respectful that can’t very well be faulted, but I…” Her voice drops, she stares into her lap as she continues, “I see no reason to reject you.”

Sif wasn’t trying for pity or flattery, but she preens a bit at Daenerys’ words nevertheless. “Well, thank you,” she says, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “It’s very kind of you to say so.”

“It is not just meant as a simple kindness,” Dany whispers, hoping that her meaning will be evident.

Sif is unused to receiving this kind of behavior, especially from another woman - these sincere compliments, sweetly offered, would perhaps be clumsy or desperate-sounding coming from a man. But right now Sif is enjoying the attention, and enjoying talking to Daenerys, and she reaches over and places her hand on the other woman’s before she loses her nerve. (It strikes her as comical that an approaching horde of armed monsters would frighten her less than attempting to communicate her interest in another person.)

Dany glances down at their hands, feeling in truth just as unsure. This hasn’t exactly been a necessary stage in many of her relationships and she’s terrified of doing something to put a halt to - whatever it is. “I have never known anyone like you,” she murmurs, finally chancing to look up into Sif’s eyes.

“I like to think I’m fairly unique,” says Sif playfully. Then her expression turns more serious. “May I kiss you?”

“You may,” Dany says, taking a breath and willing her heart to calm.

Unable to keep the delighted smile off of her face, Sif leans forward and kisses her. It’s been a long time since she’s kissed another woman, so she’s a bit unprepared for how soft Daenerys’ lips are. She tastes like the food they ate and the wine they’ve been drinking and Sif feels her heart begin to pound like she’s leaping into battle.

Some time passes before it occurs to Dany that being seated at the table is not, perhaps, the best option. She pulls back just slightly, looks at Sif from under her eyelashes as she says, “I feel we might continue this someplace a bit more comfortable.”

“But you look so nice in this light,” says Sif playfully.

Daenerys’ eyes dart toward the alcove that contains her bed, the cushioned bench that rests before it, then back to Sif. “Such places are not far,” she says. “I expect the light would be just as favorable elsewhere in the room, but the surroundings might be more suited to… this.”

“Of course! I was merely jesting.” Sif smiles. “You’ll be lovely in any setting, I imagine.”

Dany glances down, smiling bashfully, then squeezes Sif’s hand and rises, nodding toward the bench (it seems a safer presumption). “Yes?” she asks.

“Yes!” Sif stands up and, glancing down, comments, “You are quite small. Are all your people this small? We Asgardians tower over most Midgardians, but I did not know it would be the same in this realm.”

“Not everyone,” Dany says sheepishly. “I am shorter than most people I have known intimately, but it is not out of the ordinary.” Accordingly, she rises on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of Sif’s mouth.

Sif hums happily. “It is still not as absurd as the span between Thor and his Midgardian woman. He finds it less amusing than I do when I ask if she must obtain a stepladder to kiss him.”

“I can imagine,” Dany murmurs, giggling behind her hand. She leads Sif to the bench, settles gracefully on it.

Once they’re both sitting, Sif leans forward to kiss Daenerys again. She experiments with licking and nipping at the other woman’s lips a bit, finding that it elicits all sorts of delightful noises. None of the men she’s been with in the last few centuries have been nearly as responsive, and she’s enjoying this immensely.

Dany chances to place one of her hands on Sif’s thigh and after a moment she begins to trace small circles against it too; the other hand finds the back of Sif’s neck, shyly winding behind that hair she’s still tempted to stroke and perhaps even pull.

Sif practically purrs at the contact, slipping her tongue into Daenerys’ mouth gently and, once she makes sure it’s well-received, licking enthusiastically. When they break apart for a moment, she murmurs, “It’s been a long time since anyone touched my hair. Please continue that as you see fit. Shall I do the same for you?”

“Thank you,” Dany whispers. “Yes, you - you may. Please.” As she says it, she traces her fingers up over Sif’s scalp, luxuriating in the feel of the other woman’s hair against her fingers.

“Very well.” Sif reaches to run her hands through Daenerys’ hair gently, enjoying the soft happy noises the other woman makes as she does so. “Your hair is lovely too, Your Grace.”

“Dany,” says Daenerys, looking up at Sif with an out-of-place innocence in her eyes. “Call me Dany.”

“Of course, Dany,” breathes Sif, kissing her again.

This time, the kiss makes Dany outright whimper, and she strokes over Sif’s hair, then holds onto a piece of it increasingly tightly as they continue. She moves closer to Sif, angles her body toward the other woman’s suggestively.

Sif takes the hint, pulling Dany closer to her with one arm while keeping the other anchored in her hair. She gives a few experimental tugs on Dany’s hair, knowing that some of her partners in the past had enjoyed that sensation.

“Oh,” gasps Daenerys, and immediately after she does, her hands meet at Sif’s neckline. “Undress,” she adds, her tone more breathy than anything.

Chuckling, Sif nods. “Forgive me, this will take longer than I’d like,” she says. “In Asgard we design our armor to be effective, not easy to remove.” She begins the process of dismantling her armor, aware of Dany watching her hungrily.

“Do not apologize,” Dany insists, her gaze traveling over Sif from hands to legs to mouth. “Your safety is important, and I can be patient.”

As Sif undresses, she comments, “This is a new experience for me. Generally at this point in one of my encounters, my chosen partner is also removing their armor. I find I quite enjoy having you watching me.”

“I enjoy watching,” Dany agrees. She leans back on one hand, lets her smile grow in appreciation. “You’re quite beautiful.”

Sif can’t help but preen at the compliment. “As are you, Dany. I assume you will be joining me in removing your clothing at some point?” She smirks.

“I will,” Daenerys promises. “But I’m enjoying myself too much at this moment.”

“You flatter me.” By this point Sif is completely nude - she has made the habit of foregoing undergarments when wearing her armor for years. “Well? Do I meet with your approval?” she asks, resting one hand on her hip.

“Oh, very much so,” Dany whispers fondly. She rises with a hand outstretched, but hesitates before reaching Sif completely. “May I…?” She finds she’s oddly taken with the idea of simply caressing Sif, feeling her seemingly perfect skin.

“You may do anything you wish,” murmurs Sif, stepping forward to encourage her.

Dany takes a deep breath, then brushes her hand from Sif’s jaw down her neck and over her shoulder, staring reverently at the skin she’s touching. She’s not sure what exactly to say, because everything that comes to mind makes her sound so foolish, but finally she manages a soft, “Thank you.”

Sif leans into the touches; she allows herself to be more vulnerable in this context. “Thank _you_ , Dany,” she replies. “You honor me by allowing me to share your bed.”

Dany smiles. “Might I trouble you for some assistance?” she asks, turning and lifting her hair to reveal the fastenings of her dress.

“Of course! Though I should warn you, I am notoriously clumsy with such fastenings.” But Sif applies herself, and the dress is soon slipping off of Dany, to be replaced with Sif’s hands. “You are breathtaking,” she comments.

“Fastenings can be repaired,” Dany says, instinctively shifting into Sif’s touch. “I find your hands infinitely more precious.”

Sif makes a contented noise in her throat. “You have quite a way with words.” She sets about running her hands down every inch of Dany’s body that she can reach, gentle and affectionate.

“Thank you.” Words have often been Daenerys’ only weapon, and they have rarely been a gift in intimate matters, but she’s glad that she seems to be managing that tonight. “I would be hard pressed to find ones that were truly adequate to describe you, though.”

“I am not the sort that one often attempts to describe,” replies Sif, smiling, “so your attempts are appreciated all the more. I should like to attempt to give you such high praise too, although my gift does not lie in words. If you will allow me?” she asks, running a hand down Dany’s back.

“I will,” Dany agrees, arching into Sif’s hand. “Perhaps we… sit?”

Sif grins. “Perhaps. On the bench, or have you other quarters suitable for this that you would prefer?”

“The bed,” Dany breathes out. “It’s just…” She takes Sif’s hand, urges her toward the alcove insistently. “I hope you will make yourself comfortable.”

“I will.” Sif plops onto the bed, arranging herself in a comfortable sitting position before smiling coquettishly at Dany. “Join me?”

“Of course,” Dany giggles. She’s rather more graceful about it, but she climbs onto the bed, eases herself down beside Sif with ankles crossed to one side demurely.

“You’re quite charming,” comments Sif, running a hand down Dany’s arm.

Dany hums contentedly, leaning into the touch and arranging her hair so it falls over the opposite shoulder. “I’m glad you think that,” she says.

“I do,” replies Sif, pulling her close and kissing her again.

“Am I granted leave to kiss you anywhere I like?” Dany asks softly.

“Please,” says Sif, and it comes out as more of a moan than she means it to.

Dany grins as she leans in, then, moving forward to press her lips to Sif’s throat. Her skin is soft, though not as soft as Dany’s own - of course, she thinks idly, Sif likely has more important things to worry about than that. It’s still soft enough that she takes notice, though, and smiles to herself with delight.

Sif sighs happily as soon as Dany’s lips meet her neck. She leans into the contact, suddenly feeling slightly desperate for it. She twines her fingers in Dany’s hair and lets her other hand rest on her back.

“Yes,” Dany breathes against Sif’s skin, shuddering at that contact. “Please, yes.” She shifts to devote attention to the other side of Sif’s neck, kissing and oh-so-gently nipping.

At the first touch of Dany’s teeth to her skin, Sif moans. “That’s very nice,” she comments, giving Dany’s hair a playful tug.

“Mm, thank you,” Dany says, and it’s unclear whether she means the compliment or the way her hair’s been pulled. “Tell me if there’s anything at all you like, I’ve been told I’m a quick study.” Of course, there is no point in telling Sif how literally she means that, but it doesn’t matter, not when she can put it to good use.

“More of that, if you please,” says Sif, humming in contentment. “I don’t need you to be gentle.”

That seems to stir something in Daenerys, and she scrapes her teeth over Sif’s skin before biting down more roughly, worrying the flesh. “Oh,” she breathes out, “you taste lovely.”

Her roughness makes Sif gasp and groan and grip Dany’s hair tighter. “Thank you,” she replies with a laugh. “I can’t imagine I taste of much besides dust and sweat, but I’m glad you enjoy it.”

“I do,” Dany agrees. “You taste… natural. I’m not sure how to describe it.” Perhaps it’s that, despite her otherworldliness, Sif tastes familiar somehow, and familiarity is sweet.

This is the first time a partner has commented on her taste, and Sif hums to show her pleasure at Dany’s words, tipping her neck back to offer more of it.

And Dany takes full advantage, kissing and nibbling and sucking on Sif’s skin, leaning forward so their chests brush together. She moves her head as she feels directed by the way Sif pulls her hair, focusing on the spots that seem to make Sif moan louder.

Which Sif appreciates. “Yes,” she gasps, “oh! That’s wonderful!”

Dany purrs, nipping at the spot where Sif’s throat and shoulder meet before pulling back just slightly. “And I will continue,” she murmurs, “but first, I find I’m desperate to kiss your lips again.” She tips her head up to do this, her eyes closing and her smile impossible to miss.

Sif meets her halfway, also smiling. She runs her tongue over Dany’s lips and then slips it inside her mouth again for a moment. Then, after a long kiss, she gently pulls Dany into her lap. “Is this all right?”

“It is,” Dany agrees, shifting her hips to get more comfortable astride Sif’s thighs. “You’re very comfortable.” She stops herself from musing on this further, but only just, and only because she thinks to instead punctuate her sentence with another kiss.

“I’m glad to hear that,” says Sif playfully. “I want to make you very comfortable tonight.”

“I’m sure you will,” Dany replies, wrapping her arms around Sif’s shoulders. “I look forward to it. And to doing the same. You are, after all, my guest, and a conquering hero besides. You deserve it.”

Sif chuckles. “I have conquered nothing in this realm as of yet, but I’m flattered nonetheless. Is there anything you would have me do for you?”

Dany hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. To have a beautiful woman in her bed, offering this so sincerely, is a rare gift that should be cherished accordingly. One of her hands slips to wrap around Sif’s, guide it to her breast. “It’s rather simple,” she says. “But I find… well, it’s a sort of attention that isn’t often given properly. Others…” Other men, she means. “They tend to think only of what they enjoy when…”

“When it serves them,” finishes Sif, smiling in an understanding way. “I am all too familiar with this, myself. But tonight you shall have every attention you desire.” She kneads Dany’s breast, slipping her other hand around to cup the other. “They are lovely and deserve to be worshiped.”

That makes Dany let out a happy sigh, one that sounds more affectionate than perhaps it ought. “Thank you,” she says softly, her head dropping forward to rest against Sif’s shoulder.

“Of course,” whispers Sif, caressing Dany’s breasts. “May I…?” She drops her head towards one of them, looking up at Dany to ensure her permission.

Dany nods, whimpering out her “yes” and reaching for Sif’s hair once again.

Smirking, Sif dips down to press kisses to the top of Dany’s right breast, enjoying the little gasps they elicit. Then, suddenly, she sucks Dany’s nipple into her mouth, rolling it with her tongue just slightly.

“ _Oh_ ,” Dany breathes out, tightening her grip on Sif’s hair and rocking her hips just slightly.

“Oh, I see you like that,” murmurs Sif. “Excellent.” She teases Dany with kisses and nibbles around her breast for a while before darting back in to reclaim her nipple, all the while gently squeezing and stroking her other breast.

“I - I do,” Dany manages, going tense and then relaxed in succession as she revels in Sif’s attentions. “Thank you, you’re very good at it.”

Sif makes a noise in her throat to acknowledge Dany’s compliment and then moves to play with her other breast just as thoroughly. This she _has_ missed when sleeping with men. She scrapes her teeth across Dany’s left breast, making Dany groan.

And before Dany can really think about what she’s doing, she leans forward, intending to nudge Sif back against the bed. All the while her hips keep moving, gentle yet insistent.

Noticing Dany’s movements, Sif tips herself backwards, then reaches around to pull Dany with her. Once she lands on her back and Dany’s settled atop her, Sif worries one of her nipples again. “Enjoying yourself, Your Grace?” she asks, almost teasingly.

“I am,” Dany pants. “You’re wonderful. I’ve missed…” It’s clear what she’s missed, given the way she’s moving against and atop Sif, but she can’t really say it.

So Sif doesn’t ask, and instead gently guides her into another kiss. “As have I,” she says. “I find that men, while sometimes enjoyable to bed, do not always understand the complexities of what a woman needs.”

“They do not,” Dany whispers shyly. “They can give pleasure, but it doesn’t always seem deliberate, and it’s never quite the same.”

“Precisely,” says Sif, rolling her eyes. “This is much nicer.” She pauses to savor the sight of Dany atop her, flushed and eager. “And now?”

“And now I find myself wondering at my luck, to share this night with you,” replies Dany. She traces fingers around one of Sif’s nipples, then trails them downward. “Might I express my gratitude?”

“Please.” Sif arches into her touch, closing her eyes.

Dany rolls her hips one last time before moving back, straddling one of Sif’s thighs and teasing fingers near her center. “You’re beautiful,” she whispers.

“Thank you,” gasps Sif. “As are you. I am honored that you allow me to pleasure you.”

Dany’s smile goes gentler for a moment. “I am glad to do that,” she says, finally letting her hand tease up over Sif’s flesh. “And, I hope, to pleasure you in return.”

Sif’s hips buck involuntarily. “I’m sure you will,” she says with a grin. “You have an advantage over most of my previous lovers.”

That makes Dany chuckle throatily, rubbing her fingers against Sif and grinding her hips simultaneously. “I admit,” she says, “that’s something of a comfort, but it won’t stop me from devoting myself to the task.” Her eyes go wide for a moment. “Not, not that I see it as a _task_ , I just meant… well.”

Laughing, Sif nods. “I know. I trust you to be thorough.”

“Good,” Dany smiles. She arches her back, lets her free hand rest on Sif’s thigh behind her. “Is there anywhere more I should pay attention to?”

“If I think of something, I’ll tell you,” says Sif with a happy sigh. “You’re doing wonderfully so far.”

Dany rolls her shoulders happily, lets herself really and truly grin as she continues to work her fingers between Sif’s legs. “Thank you,” she says.

“Thank _you_.” Sif moans and begins to move her hips in rhythm with Dany’s fingers. “This is very...very nice.”

“Mm, _good_ ,” Dany hums, quickening her movements. “A woman as astonishing as you deserves to feel so always.”

Sif’s breathing quickens and, at Dany’s words, she huffs a laugh. “Keep that up, I enjoy your praise almost as much as your fingers at the moment.”

“All right, then,” Dany smirks. “Well, someone as gorgeous and noble as you should have scores of lovers falling at your feet, most like, but I cannot imagine many of them would deserve to take in your full majesty.” It’s a bit more poetic than she is often afforded the opportunity to be, and she feels foolish giving such elaborate compliments, but she knows they’re not empty, and that makes all of the difference.

Arching her back more, Sif lets several delighted moans fall from her lips. “You are most definitely - ah! - deserving, Dany,” she murmurs.

Dany bites her lip to stifle her smile, brushes hair behind her ear. “I am impossibly grateful you think so,” she says. “Being with you like this is a joy.”

“It is,” gasps Sif. “You are - you are far better company than I had hoped for tonight.”

After a while Sif loses track of time - Dany clearly has experience with this and quickly figures out what Sif likes, and it’s not long before she’s crying out Dany’s name and thrashing against the bed (she’s never been particularly subtle when climaxing).

Really, Daenerys has beheld many wonders in her short life. Right now, though, she thinks that the sight of Sif, apparent queen of some fantasylike realm in the sky, reduced to shudders and wails by _her_ attentions is one of the grandest.


	3. starry night is nothing like what I expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif and Dany spend the night talking and enjoying each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assume the fate that befell poor Doreah in this amalgamated timeline is closer to the one that befell her in the books.

Sif’s sprawled on her back with Dany wrapped around her side and one of Sif’s arms thrown over her. She takes a moment to calm her breathing slightly and then, smiling, says, “I confess, I am a bit surprised that you are so skilled with a woman. Where did you learn that?”

The question causes Dany to go tense for a moment. “My… Doreah,” she finally manages to say. “She was one of the girls, the women, given to me as a bride gift. She had… giving pleasure had been her job, and teaching me to give my husband pleasure was her job when she came to me.” She shakes her head, smiles fondly but distantly. “She taught me many things. She was my first true friend, and in time much more.”

“Ah,” says Sif gently, reaching to pet Dany’s hair. “I am sorry for...for reminding you of someone you loved and lost.”

Dany sighs airily, letting her head fall against Sif’s shoulders. “Do not apologize,” she declares. “It is rare that a day passes without me reminding myself of her, in truth. Her or any of those I’ve lost. I am not often afforded the opportunity to speak of her, though, not in the way that I may mention my husband or son, and it - is oddly welcome. Thank you.”

“Of course. I wish to be a comfort to you in any way you desire,” says Sif, and she means that, though she’s had a poor history of being comforting in any sense of the word. But she wants to help Dany, and so she adds, “Might I...offer to put your mind to other things?”

“I would like that,” Dany whispers, meeting Sif’s eyes. “Very much.”

“Excellent. I’d like it too.” Sif smiles and begins to sit up. “What would you have me do for you?”

“Whatever you feel would be most successful,” Dany says playfully. “You’ve much more experience than I in such matters.”

That makes Sif chuckle. “You think very well of me indeed. My last experience with a girl was a great many of your years ago, and only for a short period of time. Few Asgardian women will look on me as anything but their queen, to be respected, not loved in this way.”

“Then that is their loss,” Dany affirms. “I have known the same dilemma. And as men go, I find it almost the opposite, on the surface - they will offer empty praise or crude insinuations, all with the same goal in mind, but little true respect.” She shakes her head, giggling. “But that is not the matter now.”

“No,” replies Sif with a grin, “and I very much doubt that many of them are particularly good at this.” She leans down to press a kiss to Dany’s center, glancing up to ensure that it’s something Dany wants.

It very much is (she’d thought to mention it, but decided that letting Sif decide what she thought best was more polite) and the wide-eyed expression that crosses her face when she feels Sif’s lips on her is evidence. “Not - often,” she gasps out.

Sif chuckles and whispers “Not better than me, anyhow” before beginning with light kisses on Dany’s inner thighs, teasing her just a bit. She notices that the longer this goes on, the louder Dany’s whimpers get, and if she felt like being especially cruel, she could tease her for a long time. But she is a woman of her word, and so eventually she works her way back to Dany’s sex and licks it experimentally, seeing what Dany enjoys.

“ _Gods_ ,” Dany murmurs, canting her hips and blindly reaching to fist a hand in Sif’s hair, not quite as a direction but certainly as an anchor. For all of Sif’s humility about her experience with these matters, she’s - she’s utterly _phenomenal_ is what. Actually managing to say that is too much effort right now, though, and Dany settles for expressing her gratitude through louder and more impassioned moans instead.

Making a satisfied noise, Sif continues, switching to the little nub of flesh that makes Dany squeal for a few minutes before returning to focus on the previous areas. Then, after thoroughly exploring her, Sif slips her tongue inside and begins to lick.

Dany’s grip on Sif’s hair tightens, she fights to keep from clenching her thighs around Sif’s head. “Please, please, please,” she choruses, the syllables coming out soft and insistent.

And Sif obliges, continuing what she’s doing and then going faster as Dany’s cries get louder. She’s very much enjoying the noises Dany’s making, as well as the way she arches into Sif’s touches. While her last few encounters with men have been pleasurable, she’s almost forgotten just how incredible it is to have a woman writhing beneath her. As Dany seems to be reaching a peak, she reaches up to stroke at her nub again.

Now, Dany forgoes anything that may even resemble words, rocking against Sif wildly and groaning in pleasure, feeling her climax wash over her in no time at all but trying to draw it out as long as she can. Sif doesn’t ease up, so Dany can really revel in the moment in a way she’s not done in much too long, and she does. Her voice slides up the octaves as she shrieks, then suddenly disappears once she’s worn out.

Once Sif feels her settle, she kisses her one last time before sliding back up to stroke Dany’s hair. “Was that satisfactory?” she asks, grinning.

“Given the look on your face,” Dany manages to say, “I don’t think you’re just asking to continue being humble.”

“Would you?” Sif’s not even bothering to keep the smugness out of her voice. “But if it was unsatisfactory, I do want to make up for it.” She does mean that, but she can’t help teasing Dany a little.

“Oh, it was more than satisfactory,” Dany smirks. “I doubt I’m recovered enough to tell you just how much more yet, but I’ll make a point to in a moment.”

Chuckling, Sif continues to run her hand through Dany’s hair. “Take your time. You seemed to be enjoying yourself immensely. I’m glad to know I haven’t lost my talents over time.”

“You haven’t,” Dany affirms, lazily reaching to wrap her arm around Sif’s waist. “You’re… it has been far too long since someone has done that for me so successfully.”

Sif hums happily. “I am sorry that you’ve gone so long without that pleasure, but more than happy to have given it to you again. You certainly deserve it.”

“Oh, I’ve made do,” Dany murmurs, trying for playful. “But that was, you gave me, a very certain sort of that pleasure that is not often matched.”

“Good.” Sif moves her other hand to stroke Dany’s arm. “You’re quite warm,” she says, noticing suddenly. “Is that customary?”

Dany shakes her head. “Not to my knowledge,” she says, then backtracking. “Or, rather, it’s customary for _me_ , but not for most people in this world.” It’s punctuated with an apologetic little giggle.

“I see,” says Sif. “I merely wondered, it poses no issue for me.” She continues to caress Dany’s skin.

“It’s to do with what I told you of before, I think,” Dany blurts out. “About my family, about our being dragons after a fashion. _Fire made flesh_ , is what some people say of proper dragons.” She shrugs, pressing closer to Sif.

“Ah, that is a reasonable guess. I have never bedded a dragon before,” Sif teases. “But I may have to make a habit of it. You’re exquisite.”

“Well, as I told you, I am the last dragon,” Dany murmurs, gazing up at Sif with a playful glint in her eyes. “But I am enjoying this evening, so I would not object to that habit in the slightest.”

Sif laughs. “At some point I shall have to return to Asgard, sadly, or they may decide to have yet another uprising. But I suppose we have many hours until morning, if you’re willing?”

Dany’s eyes go wide, and her expression could only be described as delighted. “I am,” she exclaims. “Though I’m still not sure I’m fit to move yet. Will you tell me another story of Asgard?”

“Of course!” Sif thinks for a moment, and then says, “What about of the time when Loki convinced Thor to dress up as a woman in order to fool the giant Thrym and win back Thor’s hammer? That was not my friend’s finest hour, but Loki has told it so many times I feel as if I was there myself.”

“My goodness,” Dany says, giggling. “I suppose that would take a kind of bravery that many men would not exhibit.”

Sif snorts. “Bravery, or foolhardiness. The entire affair was Loki’s idea, but it began when they were invited to a feast Thrym was hosting. Thor had more mead than was good for him and didn’t realize he had left his hammer Mjolnir at Thrym’s until they had returned to Asgard. But when Loki snuck back into Thrym’s palace, he learned that Thrym had buried Thor’s hammer somewhere on his land and refused to return it. The only bargain he would accept was the hand of our queen, Frigga, in marriage. Thrym was not known for his intellect,” she added with a dry smile. “And Odin, of course, could not know that Thor had lost his weapon.

“So it fell to Loki and Thor to retrieve it. Of course they could not ask Frigga to come with them to see Thrym, even in the hopes of tricking Thrym. But Loki thought that perhaps if they dressed Thor as Frigga, Thrym might be convinced for long enough to retrieve the hammer.”

“How convincing was the disguise?” Dany asks. “I can’t imagine many that would be successful in such a situation.”

“Well, luckily for them both, Thrym’s eyesight is quite poor. Thor is unmistakably a man, and no hastily-assembled disguise of a veil and a garland of flowers will hide that.” Rolling her eyes, Sif continues, “So they took ‘Frigga’ to Thrym, with the plan that ‘Frigga’ would refuse to say her wedding vows until Mjolnir was placed into her hands. Thor would then unveil himself and, presumably, fight his way out of Thrym’s house and back to Asgard. What they neglected to think of was the wedding feast that Thrym’s mother insisted on holding before the ceremony.”

“I imagine the plot was spoiled somehow,” Dany prompts.

“Not quite, but Loki only just managed to avoid it. Thor neglected to eat as a lady would and put away eight salmon before the others at the table had finished their second. Loki passed it off as ‘Frigga’s’ excitement, which had prevented her from eating for eight days before the wedding. By the end of the meal, he’d managed to put away five more servings and three barrels of mead. Nothing out of the ordinary for Thor, of course.” Sif chuckles before continuing. “Then his veil slipped and Thrym wondered at his bride-to-be’s glaring eyes. Loki explained that Frigga also hadn’t slept for eight days, out of her eagerness to be married to the great Thrym. Then, before their incompetence could jeopardize their mission any further, Loki insisted that the time for the wedding ceremony had come. Thrym, being incurably dull, did as ‘Frigga’ asked and gave back Mjolnir, and Thor and Loki beat a hasty retreat.”

“My,” Dany laughs. “Not exactly the sort of victory they were used to achieving, I suppose.”

“No.” Sif laughs. “It wasn’t one of their grander schemes. But Odin never knew, and Frigga found the whole thing greatly amusing when she found out. I, naturally, didn’t let them live it down for ages.”

“I don’t see why you would have!” Dany agrees enthusiastically. “It sounds as if they thoroughly deserved your teasing.”

“They did,” says Sif, smirking. “I love Thor dearly, but I am sometimes amazed that he has become such a noble, good-hearted man, his youth was so full of folly. And Loki, well...I am amazed that _he_ was able to carry out his plans to conquer Asgard without detection for all that time.”

“Often, there is no telling what someone will be capable of,” Dany muses, in a tone that is likely difficult to interpret.

Nodding, Sif replies, “That is true. And quite a wise statement, for someone who has so recently been recovering.” She taps Dany’s nose playfully and smiles at her.

“I have learned some truths so well that they remain with me despite my mental state,” Dany says archly, shrugging it off a moment later. “But then, maybe I’m recovered enough to return the favor.”

Sif raises an eyebrow. “Are you certain? Perhaps more kissing would help you decide.”

“We had best be sure,” Dany agrees, nodding very seriously.

Making a soft delighted noise in her throat, Sif kisses her again. Being affectionate doesn’t come naturally to her, but tonight it feels appropriate.

In truth, affection doesn’t come naturally to Daenerys either - she so rarely has the opportunity for it anymore, and was long denied it - but this seems to fit perfectly. She returns the kiss, nipping at Sif’s lips gently as she shifts her body so she’s laid out over top of Sif, chests pressed together.

Sif moans appreciatively at the nips, darting her tongue into Dany’s mouth and then over her lips and back again. After a few moments she breaks the kiss to murmur, “You seem to have recovered very well indeed.”

“Perhaps,” Dany teases, pulling back and starting to move down Sif’s body. As she does, she nudges Sif’s legs apart, positions herself between them.

Sif glances down at her, grinning. “Anytime you’re ready.”

Dany takes a breath, glances shyly up at Sif. “What I said earlier is still in effect,” she murmurs. “Tell me what you like.” And with that, she leans to kiss between Sif’s thighs.

“Oh!” Sif groans delightedly. “That’s nice. You could be a bit rougher, if you like.”

“Could I,” Dany murmurs, contemplating this for the briefest moment before dragging the flat of her tongue up Sif’s slit as firmly as she can manage. She does this several times, varying the pressure and speed and listening for Sif’s reactions.

The firmer ones make Sif cry out louder and jerk her hips, greedy for more pressure. “More like that,” she gasps.

Dany hums in agreement, then obliges, reaching to stroke over Sif’s hip and belly before bringing her hand to hold onto Sif’s thigh. All the while she’s mouthing at Sif, murmuring nonsense against her flesh.

As she writhes, Sif grasps Dany’s hair with one hand, digging her fingers into the top of Dany’s head. As before, she’s not quiet, moaning and gasping out “yes” and “please” and “more” in a nonsensical mantra.

Each sound, each pull on her hair, serves as encouragement for Dany, and she just intensifies her efforts. Sif tastes unimaginably good, and Dany would be happy to lick at her all night and all day, but as she knows that isn’t practical she intends to make the most of this gift she’s been given while she can.

Sif’s been moving her hips insistently against Dany’s mouth, loving Dany’s enthusiasm. At some of Dany’s more enthusiastic licks she growls, “ _That_ , inside me!”

Dany moans at that, and immediately she takes the suggestion, dipping her tongue into Sif and resuming that fevered rhythm. She lifts her eyes enough to glance up Sif’s body, over the expanses of bare, beautiful skin, and when their gazes meet, Dany’s turns almost a question.

Nodding furiously, Sif begins wailing louder with every new movement of Dany’s tongue. She ruts against it and it’s not long before she’s screaming her release, tugging on Dany’s hair harder than she means to as she finishes.

That makes Dany moan once more, rolling her neck as Sif holds onto her; she digs her fingernails into Sif’s thighs in an attempt to still her some as she finishes, she smiles against Sif’s skin.

After Sif’s body calms, she takes a moment to slow her breathing a bit. Finally she gasps, “I think perhaps that tongue of yours is gifted in ways other than speech, Daenerys Targaryen.”

Dany props herself up on Sif’s thigh, grinning proudly. “I am pleased you think so,” she says. Idly, she lets her fingers travel over Sif’s skin, tracing indecipherable patterns.

Sif laughs. “Yes. I have not been treated so well for many years.”

“A true shame,” Dany declares as she repositions herself. “It’s _my_ pleasure to give you the pleasure you deserve.”

“Many thanks, Your Grace,” says Sif playfully, sitting up to kiss Dany on the lips. “It’s much appreciated.”

Despite having only met Sif half a day ago, Dany feels more comfortable resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder than she has with a lover in some time. “I’ve missed this closeness,” she murmurs.

“Oh? Not, I imagine, that your male lovers have been especially affectionate.” Sif begins to stroke Dany’s hair.

“Not especially,” Dany agrees, smirking. “In time, my sun-and-stars grew to love holding me and simply _being_ with me, but even that wasn’t quite the same. And intimacy isn’t always physical or even purely romantic.”

“Of course,” nods Sif, thinking of Frigga Allmother, who she had come to think of as more her mother than the woman who birthed her.

“I’m not entirely lacking in companionship, of course,” muses Dany, mostly in reference to her before-mentioned friendship with Missandei and dalliance with Daario, “but moments like this are rare enough indeed.”

“I can imagine,” Sif murmurs, continuing to run her hand through Dany’s hair. “I’m glad I can offer it to you. It’s true for me as well, that such quiet moments with someone I trust are few and far between.”

“Funny, that,” Dany declares. “That stories portray nobility so adored and content, glossing over the anxiety, loneliness, and skepticism that rule necessitate.”

Chuckling, Sif replies, “I expect very few of those stories were told by the nobility themselves. All too often truths are simplified for the benefit of the listener.”

“Or anyway, the nobility who actually have the responsibilities,” Dany says, rolling her eyes at the thought of her brother and his idealized vision of the better life they would have if they held the throne. “The listener would not wish to think of the tribulations that come with the crown.”

“Of course not. They enjoy the fantasy, the dragonslaying - pardon - and the riding into battle and the grand ceremonies. Less so the minutia of politics and the grim realities of war.”

Dany groans at the idea of it, pressing her face against Sif’s shoulder a moment. “And they think only of the sweet side of courtship, the handsome princes and beautiful ladies, the ones who somehow get the blessing to marry for love,” she adds.

Sif laughs. “Ah yes. Love conquers all, that is the term? I think Thor believes that of his own story. I wish him well, and I will take no pleasure in seeing his despair when his mortal woman dies. Love is a fine thing, when it occurs, but not often a match for reality.”

“It is, and it is not,” Dany agrees, voice suddenly gone soft and cold. “Love has a way of making us mortals forget our… condition, I suppose. At the side of my husband, my…” She sighs. “With them, it was easy to think that any harm that befell us might be easily righted. Not stolen by another person and their anger or greed.”

Sif strokes down Dany’s arm in a way she hopes is sympathetic and reassuring. “Yes, I remember that feeling well. That is one reason that I hunt Lorelei. I am sorry such tragedies have befallen you as well.”

“What will you do with her?” Dany asks quietly.

“I will deal to her swift justice, as my people would wish,” replies Sif. “Truth be told, I would prefer that she suffer, as she has caused so much suffering herself, but I recognize that a true ruler does not act out of anger or a desire for vengeance. It took me many years to learn that.”

“There’s a place for a bit of anger, I think,” Dany whispers. “The maegi who killed my husband, I had her burned to death on the pyre that sent him to his rest and hatched my dragons. I wonder sometimes if it was wrong of me to feel not remorse but satisfaction when I heard her screams.”

“Oh, I think that was perfectly understandable. As you say, there is a place for anger, and if I were pursuing her as a free agent I would let her feel my true rage. But I have come on behalf of my realm, and so I act as an Asgardian. You were carrying out your own justice, Dany. I see nothing wrong with that.”

Dany nods, but her voice is faint. “Perhaps it’s the fact that exactly what I rule over is so tenuous that makes the line between justice and vengeance so thin,” she says. “And perhaps they can coexist, I’m still learning. I do try to hold my temper, difficult though it can be at times, given the things I see and especially the ones aimed specifically at me.”

“In the violence sense?” Sif can’t help but be concerned, though she knows Dany would likely be able to fend off such assailants.

“Oh, there has been more than one attempt on my life, though few direct enough to bring me to harm,” Dany says with a bitter laugh, “but I’m speaking now of the manipulation and sycophancy that I’ve come to know all too well. Surely you’ve encountered some of this?”

“Ah.” Sif nods. “That has indeed been a feature in my life as of late. Though I would imagine not as often as for you. Do you know, my friend Fandral suggested that we marry for political reasons? I laughed him out of court - he is far more comfortable showing off to silly younger women than discussing any type of politics.”

“Oh, _those_ sorts,” Dany chuckles. “Who think those stories we spoke of are true enough that rule would be feasts and accolades and little more. Think that being able to turn a pretty phrase and appear regal enough makes them at all qualified.”

Sif snorts. “Indeed. I think he _knows_ that ruling is more complicated, but he fancies himself a great hero from a story. Fandral the Dashing, he calls himself. I am as fond of him as my own brother, but sometimes he is quite foolish.”

Dany winces. “At least you’ve that fondness to counter the effect his idiotic suggestion might have,” she suggests. “I’ve had proposals of both marriage and political alliance from men I’ve known barely longer than I’ve known you, men who I would find contemptible even if they hadn’t offered that.”

“That sounds distasteful. I should count myself lucky, I suppose, that the Realms do not often deal with us in matters other than war.”

“That sounds lucky indeed,” Dany agrees. “I wish that every time someone said to me ‘Your Grace, you should take a husband for this-or-that reason,’ they would be required to pay a fine. I’d be able to feed those who go without in no time.”

Laughing, Sif nuzzles Dany affectionately. “It is that sort of impulse that makes me admire you, Dany. Most would make statements like that in the interest of personal wealth.”

“I have what I need, materially,” Dany replies with a shrug. “It was not always that way, entirely, and I am grateful at least to be out of that unnerving day-to-day way of life myself. I would see others removed from it as well.”

“You have a good heart. Far better than mine, I admit.”

“I don’t know that’s true,” Dany murmurs. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts, tracing fingertips over Sif’s skin. “You say you would do anything for your realm, would you not? Nobility like that is often matched by a good heart.”

“Well, I thank you for that. When confronted with injustice, my first impulse is to charge in sword first rather than offer aid to those suffering.” Sif chuckles. “Asgard’s focus is largely on those problems that can be solved in a battle rather than with kindness.”

“I think that’s true of many places,” Dany observes. “To be sure, a strong army is valuable. My head does not lie in battle strategy, though, nor do my talents lie such, so I have had to learn other means of achieving my goals, and those are often _softer_ because those are the problems I’ve become attuned to.”

“Reasonable.” Shifting her weight to nestle closer to Dany, Sif adds, “I sometimes wonder what would have become of Asgard had some of our forefathers been less focused on war and weaponry. Odin, when he was younger, seemed more reasonable than some, but in his last few years he had grown power hungry and could not see his folly for what it was. I think that is part of the reason why Loki was able to dispose of him so easily - he could only focus on the threat in front of him, so he did not expect the ones from within.”

Dany nods. “I’ve heard tell that my own father fell victim to a similar impulse,” she says softly. “Folly, certainly. I never knew him, of course, but I have heard enough tales of him to know which qualities not to emulate.”

“Oh my. I feel somewhat lucky, in a way, that my upbringing largely involved the Allfather and Allmother. The Queen treated us all as her own children, especially me. I - I am grateful to her.”

There’s no reply for a while, and she glances down to see that Dany’s eyes are drooping shut. “Please sleep, if you need to. I’m prattling on about nothing,” Sif says gently.

“I’m fine,” Dany whispers. “I like listening to you. I don’t often get to hear stories in bed anymore. I rarely ever have.”

Sif chuckles. “Well then, allow me to make up for that. Let me tell you about the months I spent amongst the Light Elves in Alfheim, or as they called it, Mirkwood…”

 

* * *

 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Sif presses a kiss to Dany’s forehead.

Dany blinks, stretching arms above her head and groaning, “Was I asleep for too long? I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize! I spent many hours plotting how to subdue Lorelei. It was beneficial. And now,” Sif murmurs, nuzzling Dany affectionately, “we have a bit more time to ourselves, perhaps.”

Dany cranes to look out the window, then flops back down beside Sif with a grin. “Certainly, I think,” she says. “How would you have me?”

“I rather like you underneath me,” says Sif playfully.

“Mm, that can be done,” Dany purrs, stroking down Sif’s side.

Sif moves to lie atop Dany, kissing her deeply on the lips for a while before pausing to murmur, “And what would you like this morning, Your Grace?”

“I think…” Dany trails off, thinking very seriously for a moment. “Leave me something to remember you by, perhaps. While you’re out on your hunt.”

Sif chuckles. “Very well, I’ll see about that.” She leans down to suck at a spot on Dany’s neck.

Dany gasps, arching against Sif instinctively. “I will treasure seeing you against my skin,” she whispers.

Making satisfied noises in her throat, Sif works for a while at leaving faint bruises on Dany’s neck before moving down to her collarbone. “You are beautiful, Dany,” she whispers, “but somehow even more beautiful once I have left my marks on you.”

“Thank you,” Dany whispers throatily. “I’m glad to be worthy of the honor of wearing them.”

“You are more than worthy.” Sif nips at Dany’s breast before continuing to suck at it. She can’t resist taking Dany’s nipple in her mouth for a while, rolling it between her teeth and licking at it.

“ _Oh_ ,” Dany shrieks. One of her hands anchors her against the bed, the other finds a lock of Sif’s hair to hold.

Which makes Sif smirk around her nipple, and continue to tease it while palming the other one. At one point she scrapes her nails across Dany’s breast.

Dany shudders, tugs on Sif’s hair. “Please, please,” she breathes.

Sif laughs and moves her mouth to Dany’s other nipple, sucking just as hard at it as she did the other. After a little while of that, she suckles higher, working at leaving marks there too. “You are delectable,” she murmurs.

That makes Dany hum all too delightedly, arching against Sif’s mouth. “I value your compliments nearly as much as your kisses.”

“You are well deserving of both,” says Sif, leaning up to kiss Dany lightly on the lips. Then she moves back to her breasts for a while, enjoying the noises Dany makes when she bites at them.

Eventually she works her way down Dany’s body, leaving faint bruises where she can on her stomach and hips, and, pausing, asks, “Fingers or tongue today, Your Grace? Or…” she adds, smirking, “both?”

Dany’s eyes widen in delight. “Both, if I may ask it,” she whispers.

“Of course,” says Sif, testing Dany’s wetness with a finger, teasing it around her center. Finding it more than adequate, she slips it inside and gives Dany a gentle lick.

“I hope I, I will have a chance to repay your kindness?” Dany murmurs.

“If you wish it,” Sif replies, smiling wickedly just before she kisses Dany and starts to pump her finger in and out.

“I do,” Dany breathes. “It’s only right I wish you luck before sending you off to battle.”

“How kind of you,” says Sif playfully, slipping in a second finger and increasing the pace of her thrusts. Then she licks around Dany’s nub before sucking it into her mouth.

“You - _oh_ \- you have earned it,” Dany pants, pushing her hips up more firmly.

Sif sort of purrs and starts licking more firmly at Dany, listening for her noises to see what she likes. Her fingers keep working inside Dany.

And all of this drives Dany wild, makes her scream and moan and shake. The deeper Sif’s fingers go, the lower and more feral Dany’s noises become; the longer Sif sucks at her, the quicker Dany’s heart beats.

Sif’s loving this, and she gets rougher, biting at Dany along with the licking and sucking. After one particularly hard bite, she feels Dany’s body jerk and a wail lets Sif know she’s gone over the edge. She’s gentler as Dany rides it out, soothing her back from it.

Some long, sighing sorts of breaths and soft whimpers later, Dany finally feels her body calm. “I don’t doubt that left proof,” she says softly.

“Excellent,” murmurs Sif, sliding up to kiss Dany on the lips again. “I am glad to have served you well.”

Dany enjoys that kiss a moment before she tosses a leg over Sif’s hips and adjusts so that she’s lying atop Sif, rolling her hips. “How would I best serve you in turn?” she asks, beginning to slide down Sif’s body slowly. “Ready my warrior for her journey?”

“Oh, any way you’d like,” says Sif, smiling lazily. “Though I wouldn’t be opposed to a bit of roughness.”

In answer, Dany drags her nails down over Sif’s chest and stomach, grinning. “As you will,” she says, moving lower and nudging Sif’s legs apart.

Sif groans at the feel of Dany’s nails and gasps, “ _Yes._ ”

Dany scratches farther down, biting on the skin of Sif’s stomach and hips. “And this?”

Sif’s only reply is a series of delighted moans.

So Dany continues, scraping and nipping and focusing her attentions downward. “I admit,” she muses, “you’ll likely have spoiled me, delicious as you are.” Not have spoiled her beyond repair, but spoiled her nonetheless.

“A-apologies,” Sif gasps, grinning. “It was not my...my intention.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was an accident,” Dany teases, kissing Sif’s inner thigh. “And I’m not complaining, mind. I just feel it right to tell you how exceptional you are.”

“You’re very kind,” replies Sif breathily. “Thank you, Dany.”

“I should thank you,” Dany whispers. “Dropping in like a storybook hero, dashing and lovely.”

Sif chuckles. “I’m hardly dashing.”

“Noble, then,” Dany says. “Brave and daring. Whatever it is you choose as a description…” She stops to drop a kiss right over Sif’s center. “Whatever it is, you’re rather fantastic.”

Sighing happily, Sif replies, “As are you, Dany. You’re extraordinary.”

Dany beams at the praise, then drags teeth over Sif’s flesh as a thank you. She massages Sif’s hips and thighs as she begins licking and nipping in the way she remembers Sif enjoying.

Which makes Sif moan in appreciation and buck her hips toward Dany’s mouth. “M-more of that,” she gasps.

“Of course,” Dany whispers, increasing the frequency as well as the pressure of her mouthing.

Sif’s noises are getting higher-pitched and more frequent, and her thighs tighten around Dany the closer she gets to her release. Soon she’s whimpering and shuddering while Dany guides her through.

Dany doesn’t move immediately once Sif has stilled, but instead sprawls out draped over her body. “You’re beautiful,” she declares.

“And _you_ are very good with your mouth,” says Sif with a laugh, pulling Dany down for a kiss.

“High praise,” Dany hums against Sif’s lips.

Sif would be content to kiss this woman for half the day, but finally she pulls away and murmurs, “Alas, I suppose I should prepare to leave soon.”

Dany sighs. “You likely ought,” she agrees, sounding thoroughly regretful.

“I don’t suppose you’d have a parting meal for the dashing hero?” teases Sif.

“Dress, and we can go in search of one,” Dany offers. “But just one more kiss first?”


	4. the sky is falling right next to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The traitor Lorelei is found and brought to justice; Sif and Dany offer each other parting comforts.

Perhaps it is just that it’s been so long since she had one to command (the Midgardian men with their strange two-wheeled vehicles hardly counted) but Lorelei is - well, she’s actually a bit bored with her army. That they came more or less as a unit already took some of the thrill of assembling them, and that they were none of them exactly difficult to lure took some of the thrill of turning them. At least, she thinks, they know how to fight, and they had no qualms about supplying her with the material comforts she requested (clothing, to replace the positively _unfortunate_ homespun sack of a dress that she’s sure Sif gave to her to add insult to the injury of her imprisonment; blankets, to cover the accursed sand that covers everything in this place). It will make conquest simple, if they can ever manage to get out of this infernal desert.

That’s just her luck, landing in another desert and this one worse than the last: proper buildings can be seen on the horizon, but the best that the men she’s found can offer are tents, which do little to keep the elements truly out. But they’ve horses in this realm, which is one thing to recommend it in her opinion, and the weapons are more in keeping with those used on Asgard. It is a more familiar place in these small ways, though that means it will be less of a challenge to take control of.

She’s already had a couple of her soldiers - a tall, dark-haired man who fights best with twin daggers, another tanner swordsman - but in truth, most of the men she’s found herself in possession of aren’t quite up to her usual standard. They’re sellswords and soldiers, and from what she’s seen the majority of them are battleworn and unappealing.

Maybe the cities will yield more promising conquests.

When around midday she sees a cloud of dust and sand traveling toward her camp, her first thought is one of interest. At least it will be fun to watch her army prove themselves. Maybe she will even have to fight on her own behalf, and while she would never call that her favorite activity it would be something to break the tedium.

As this cloud approaches and eventually becomes more clearly a figure, though, Lorelei cannot help but groan. She doesn’t know why she bothered expecting it was anyone but Sif, ever-virtuous and rarely-tempted Sif, Sif who despite having become the Allmother cannot let go of old grudges.

“Lorelei!” she calls as she rides up. “We will have words!”

Of course they will.

Almost lazily, Lorelei summons a few of her soldiers to guard her, though she doesn’t expect they’ll last long against Sif. Really, the other woman is still one of the most capable warriors she has ever seen; she’d have been a worthwhile ally if she wasn’t so determined to uphold her alleged moral code.

And after Sif plows through her guards, she growls, “Don’t hide behind your lackeys, Lorelei. Face me yourself!”

Lorelei rolls her eyes as she rises from the cushions she’s spent the better part of the day lounging on and adjusts the thin silk of her new dress. “You’ve found me out,” she deadpans. Perhaps she ought to take Sif’s threats more seriously, but it’s a familiar enough dance that she doesn’t bother.

“Of course I did. Did you think you could hide from me? You are not so clever, Lorelei. I will always hunt you down. Face me now, or surrender. Either is fine, although,” Sif adds, smirking, “the latter will make for a less interesting story on the day of your execution.”

“And, what?” Lorelei asks, eyebrows raised. “Will this story also be told for centuries to come? The brave Sif Allmother finally putting an end to her lascivious mortal enemy?” She snorts in a most unladylike way. “I’m not quite the stuff of tales told to frighten children.”

“You’re not worth a tale,” replies Sif. “The truth, Lorelei, is that after you are executed for your crimes against Asgard, you will be forgotten. Your name will fade into the past, never to be spoken again. This is the fate you have chosen for yourself.”

Later, perhaps, there will be a voice of reason in Lorelei’s mind cursing the way she chooses to respond to this. It’s an appeal to her vanity, is what. But right now, she has to respond. Not doing would be admitting defeat already.

So she sets her jaw, looks Sif straight-on. “We’ll see,” she mutters.

 

* * *

 

If there was not a city to rule, one for Queen Daenerys to preside over, she can admit to herself that she would rather keep to herself and think of Lady Sif’s journey, perhaps pray over her. (Though what good would that do? Prayer has rarely done anything for her in the past, regardless of which deity she invokes, and somehow she suspects that anything to do with Sif and her enemy is not the domain of any god she has known.) But she is a queen, and she has subjects she must attend to. So she fills the appropriate hours with audiences and councils as usual, letting her thoughts drift more than once to the warrior she’d taken (and been taken by) as a lover but not overlooking her duties.

It is a blessing that the number of petitioners is on the lower end of the usual, though, as Dany isn’t sure she’d have the patience to sit through any more property disputes and halfhearted proposals than she absolutely had to. When one of her Unsullied comes hurrying into the throne room, calling that the strange woman has returned, there are few enough petitioners remaining that Dany doesn’t even hesitate to lift a hand, to have Missandei request that the few still waiting wait just a short while as the queen tends to this other matter.

She hurries outside as quick as her slippers, ill-fitting as they are and all too delicate, will allow, and she watches with Grey Worm at one side and Missandei at the other as Sif rides up, her own horse kicking up such clouds of sand that Dany doesn’t even notice the second horse following behind, atop which sits a woman with the spoken-of flame-colored hair.

“Is this the enemy the Lady Sif sought?” Missandei asks in a low voice.

Dany nods. “It would seem so,” she says, taking in a breath as she watches Sif bring her horse to a halt and then dismount, splendid as anything.

“Your Grace,” calls Sif, still holding the lead of the second horse, “I have returned victorious with the traitor Lorelei.” She’s holding her head high, very pleased with herself.

The red-haired woman, who upon closer inspection has a metal band encircling her mouth and throat, is glaring furiously. Her dress is ripped up one side, her hair is mussed, her wrists are bound in front of her. The traitor Lorelei looks almost pitiable from this vantage, or would if Dany had not heard of her crimes and wrongdoings.

Sif pulls her off the horse, unceremoniously, and keeps hold of her arm, though Lorelei doesn’t look inclined to run. She’s too busy glaring at Dany, and Missandei, and Grey Worm. “I know nothing of your policy towards punishing criminals, Your Grace,” says Sif, “but this woman has evaded her fate long enough. She must be executed before she manages to escape again. My people would have preferred to see her death with their own eyes, but I fear if we leave now she will find a way to slip from my grasp. Do I have your permission to perform the execution in your city?”

Dany nods once, then says to Grey Worm, “Have your men see a cell readied.”

He nods in turn, then spins on his heel to do just that.

“Under no circumstances should you even touch that collar,” calls Sif. “It must remain on her at all times. She cannot be allowed to speak even a word.”

“I will make sure of it,” Grey Worm says solemnly.

“Lady Sif,” Dany says, all formality, “I have but a few petitioners left waiting to be seen, and then we will discuss the details of this execution. Have your prisoner sequestered and then please, my chambers are open to you, rest or have food sent up if you require or…” She trails off a moment, internally wincing at her own attempts at maintaining personal distance. “Make sure you are well-equipped to tend to your matter when you decide.”

“Thank you,” Sif says, following Dany’s lead, “you are most kind, Your Grace. I look forward to meeting with you.” She turns to stride after Grey Worm and Lorelei.

Dany waits a beat before starting back inside herself, and Missandei is beside her straight away, raising an eyebrow and smiling one of her little barely-there smiles. “Did you have a good evening, Your Grace?” she asks softly.

“Yes,” Dany replies, too quickly. “Why do you ask?”

Missandei shrugs slightly. “Curiosity is all,” she says. “I’m sure our guest appreciates the hospitality that has been offered to her.”

 

* * *

 

Grateful that her last petitioners brought only petty grievances that can be quickly resolved (or as quickly as any) Dany excuses herself as soon as possible. Ser Barristan seems perplexed but permissive and Missandei promises to look in after a respectable interval in case anything is needed (Dany colors at the “respectable interval,” suspecting that her scribe has accurately assessed the situation for what it is) and soon Dany is gone from her throne room, hurrying to her chambers.

Sif is there, eating a leg of lamb with more ferocity than she normally would. She’s debating the method of execution in her head, and thinking about violence always makes her hungry - hungrier than she already was. “Dany,” she says, looking up from her meal. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” Dany murmurs, coming to sit beside Sif with a concerned expression. “Is all well?”

“As well as can be expected,” says Sif with a wry smile. “Thank you for the offer of food. I fear that I have eaten more than my share, but it was delicious.”

Dany shrugs. After all, these are extraordinary circumstances, to which the usual standards cannot be applied. “Is Lorelei secure?”

Nodding, Sif says, “Your prisons will do for the night. Our prisons held her for decades, and she only managed to escape thanks to outside forces. But I would like to have the execution as soon as you will allow, if I may.”

“Am I foolish to ask the method?” Dany’s expression is sheepish, as if she believes herself foolish no matter Sif’s answer.

Sif’s face softens, and she says, “No, it is a valid question. I have been thinking about that since she first left Asgard for Midgard. And while part of me hungers to see her in pain, the sort of pain she has put countless others through, I know that that is not the way of Asgard, nor of a true ruler. I think a quick death by sword would be best. My people will want to see for themselves that she is dead.”

“As they deserve to, if she has wrought so much havoc,” Dany agrees. Carefully, she places her hand over Sif’s, attempting some tenderness. “You are right to give them that peace of mind.”

Sif smiles tiredly. “Thank you. I appreciate your reassurance. It...it has taken a great deal of self-control not to slice her throat before now. But it will be better this way. She will die the way other traitors to Asgard have died, with witnesses and ceremony, and her body will be burned on a pyre of Asgard. So it must be.”

In spite of herself, Dany shivers - this has not been something she has dealt with in her reign, exactly, as the executions she has arranged were before she had a true realm to protect and the only traitor she has dealt with since ascending this throne was someone who for all her anger and disappointment she could not have seen killed, much less by her own hand.

“You’re very courageous,” she whispers.

“And you are very kind, Dany. For sheltering me, for hosting me, and for taking me into your bed.” Sif leans down to press a kiss to Dany’s lips. It’s not really meant as a request for more sex, although Sif would not object to that - this is more a gesture of respect than anything.

Dany hums into the kiss, instinctively bringing a hand up to stroke Sif’s arm. She intends it to lead to hand-holding, but her fingers come away feeling sticky, and she pulls back to confirm her suspicions: at least one untreated wound. “You’re hurt,” she says, though it’s obvious.

“Oh? I suppose I am,” says Sif, glancing down at it. “Truth be told, I had forgotten in my haste to eat. We Asgardians are a hardy bunch.” She grins.

“I can imagine that’s true,” Dany agrees, matching the smile. “Please, though, let me help.”

“Very well,” says Sif playfully, “I’ll turn myself over to your capable hands. Shall I remove my armor? I had rather forgotten to, in my excitement about the lamb.”

“Please do,” Dany says. “I suspect you’ve managed to sustain other injuries you’ve neglected to notice, and I would feel remiss in my duties if I didn’t help with all of them.”

That makes Sif chuckle. “All right,” she says as she undresses. “At this point I confess I hardly pay attention to a battle wound unless it’s gushing blood or inhibiting my ability to move. We are taught that in war, pain is inevitable.”

“Inevitable, perhaps, but it can still be managed,” Dany declares, swapping her own dress for a robe (comfort, ease of movement, just in case she should make a mess while cleaning Sif up) and reaching for her basin and a cloth. “I don’t imagine your wounds require the attention that ours do, but care…” She trails off, sighing. “A mistreated battle wound was the first factor in my sun-and-stars’ end, and I would not risk that for anyone else.”

Sif’s eyes widen slightly. “Ah. Well, thank you for your concern. It is certainly understandable.” Her injuries from the battle with Lorelei and her lackeys are hardly worth half of this attention, but she won’t argue with Dany, as she can see it’s important to her.

Dany shrugs, suddenly embarrassed again as she’s never sure when too much personal information becomes too much, and dips a cloth in the water, very gently cleaning Sif’s back and shoulders. “Besides,” she adds, playful, “you have protected my city from a menace. It is only right I care for you.”

Sif hums at the feel of the cloth; it’s been a long time since someone has been this tender with her. Actually, she doesn’t usually allow it. She practically laughed her handmaidens out when they tried to bathe her on her first night as queen. She knows it’s ceremonial more than anything, but she prefers to care for herself whenever possible. Occasionally her lovers have touched her in such a way, but not for centuries. Dany’s care feels soothing, though - as if she has truly earned it. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” says Dany. She is much more used to bathing as a shared effort, and though she conceptually understands that it is not so for most she wouldn’t immediately think it; right now, she just feels it appropriate. Sif’s back is mostly just bruised, so washing the only thing that needs done, and as she goes about it she proposes, “Explain to me, perhaps, how you Asgardians can live for so long.”

Sif shrugs. “How do you know the lifespan of your people? It is how we are born. We can live for millennia, if luck is on our side. Although,” she adds with a grin, “it is considered honorable to die in battle, of course. Far more so than fading away over many years.”

“Are you less prone to illness?” Dany asks, because she’s finding herself more curious by the minute.

“We are immune to Midgardian diseases, and I presume also to any of yours,” says Sif lazily. “Some form of sorcery has to be involved for an Asgardian to fall ill.”

Dany nods, and she moves around front of Sif to better tend any bruises or scrapes on her torso and arms. “How lucky,” she says.

“Yes,” Sif says with a laugh. “I suppose I’ve never considered it that way. Rather a morbid subject. We tend to worry more about our limbs and our heads.”

“As you ought,” Dany agrees. “Those are rather vulnerable and rather crucial.”

“Less so than for you,” Sif grins, “but yes.” She’s quiet a moment, surprised by how much she enjoys Dany’s hands on her.

Dany chuckles wryly, making to clean the cut on Sif’s arm. “We’re fragile creatures,” she says, without any doubt behind it.

“The Allfather used to be far more disparaging of people such as you than I am,” says Sif with a laugh. “I think many of you have strength of your own, but it is true that in comparison to us, your lives are short and easily snuffed out.”

“I suppose we must make what we can of our lives, then,” Dany muses.

“Yes, that seems the best approach,” replies Sif, leaning to kiss Dany’s lips again.

Dany sighs happily, drawing closer still. “First, let me bandage this,” she whispers, nodding to Sif’s arm. “Then, whatever you like.”

“All right,” says Sif with a laugh. “I rather like where that was going.”

“As do I,” Dany assures, reaching for a bandage and carefully wrapping it around Sif’s arm. “But all things in time.”

“Is this the sort of thing you often do for storybook heroes?” asks Sif playfully. “Bandage their wounds and thank them carnally?”

“I have not encountered many in my life, short as it’s been,” Dany replies, teasing. “But I imagine. I ought to have sent you to battle with a token.”

“How romantic,” murmurs Sif, smirking. “Lorelei is hardly a dragon. More of a wayward petulant child.”

“Petulant children can be villains just as any dragon can,” Dany says seriously.

Sif nods. “That is true, of course. I apologize, my choice of words was poor. But she is hardly a serious threat, worth the token of a lady.”

Dany pauses a moment, biting her lip. She is not so naive as to think all dragons heroic, far from, and that is hardly why she said what she did; it’s more that she dislikes hearing someone discount their accomplishments, though she doesn’t know quite how to explain that. Instead, she takes Sif’s hand and says, “Even still. You have done what you set out to do.”

“I have.” Sif smiles at Dany. “And now...I should like very much to kiss you again, if I may.”

“Please,” Dany whispers, untying the sash of her robe and letting it fall open, but doing no more than that.

So Sif does, less gently than the earlier kiss. This one is hungry, and as she kisses Dany she reaches for one of her breasts, cupping it in her hand.

Dany hums, leaning forward into Sif’s touch. One of her arms wraps around Sif’s shoulders. “Please,” she repeats.

“Of course,” murmurs Sif, pulling back from Dany’s lips to take her nipple in her mouth. She sucks for a while, using her hand to play with the other.

Dany groans, fisting a hand in Sif’s hair and holding tight. Soon she falls back against the bed and pulls Sif with her, laughing low.

Sif laughs too. “Good?” she asks, raising her head to look at Dany.

“Oh, very good,” Dany says. She stretches out against the bed, grinning mischievously.

“Excellent,” purrs Sif, moving to work on the other nipple for a while. She runs her other hand up and down Dany’s side, tracing patterns on her skin.

“Is it common for your touch - your people’s, I mean - to elicit such lightning in someone?” Dany asks softly. “I confess, I’m feeling very… that way.”

“Lightning! Well, that’s usually Thor’s domain,” teases Sif, “but you flatter me.” She runs her nails down Dany’s side, pressing just hard enough so that Dany will feel them.

That makes Dany’s breath catch, and she presses her fingers against Sif’s scalp, using her own nails and mirroring Sif’s motions. “I mean it genuinely,” she says.

Sif moans at the feel of Dany’s nails and replies, “Thank you, you’re sweet. Shall I pleasure you first?”

“This is meant as a reward for your valor,” Dany murmurs. “It is your choice to make.”

“Well, I like your reactions,” says Sif with a grin. “I’d like to see more of them.” She begins to gently remove the last of Dany’s clothing, stopping every so often to press kisses to her skin.

Dany grins. “See, or hear?” she whispers. “Or both?”

“Oh, both, if possible,” says Sif airily. She gently guides Dany’s legs apart and licks all the way up her slit.

“Seven hells,” Dany breathes out. “Though this is hardly the only reason why, I am grateful of your safe return.”

Chuckling, Sif replies, “Again, I thank you, Dany,” before beginning to lick at her in a steady rhythm.

Dany giggles, low and mischievous, and she rocks her hips against Sif slowly. “You’re welcome,” she manages to say.

Sif hums contentedly and licks inside Dany, enjoying how it makes Dany squirm. She puts her hands on both sides of Dany’s hips to keep her still.

Dany smiles, biting back a moan. She gets the message that Sif’s gesture sends, but she can’t help but wiggle a bit just to test her limits.

Which Sif recognizes, and she laughs while holding on. She pauses to ask, “Enjoying yourself?”

“I promise that I am,” Dany murmurs, tipping her head to better smile down at Sif.

Sif glances up to return her smile, then gently replaces her tongue with one finger as she laps at Dany’s nub. “Is this all right?” she asks.

Dany nods assuredly. “It feels wonderful,” she says.

So Sif continues, pumping her finger into Dany in a rhythm with her tongue. She’ll add another if Dany asks, but she’s starting slow.

Dany purrs, insistently whispering “ _Harder_.”

With a chuckle, Sif adds another finger and speeds up, lapping and mouthing at Dany roughly.

Enough of that, and Dany’s peaking, sighing and shaking and calling Sif’s name. Each time with Sif feels as exciting as the first, and though she knows it won’t be able to last she’s treasuring it for the time being.

Sif licks her clean and then slides up her body for a kiss. “You’re beautiful. Particularly when you’re saying my name,” she adds mischievously.

“ _Sif_ ,” Dany repeats, smiling. Part of her wants to shut her eyes and lose herself in the moment, but part of her doesn’t want to stop looking at the beautiful woman beside her.

Reaching up to stroke Dany’s hair, Sif murmurs, “I am almost sad I cannot stay after tomorrow.”

“Me as well,” Dany whispers. Her entire body is relaxed, in a way it has not been in quite some time; this entire experience has provided an interlude from daily life, one she is rather thankful for. “We’ve still a bit more time, though.”

“Do we? Then we should make the best of it.” Sif kisses her again.

“We should,” Dany agrees, turning on her side and nudging a leg between Sif’s. “I am not like to meet your equal for some time, I think.”

“You flatter me.” Sif grins lazily.

Dany uses their tangled legs to bring them closer together, drapes an arm over Sif’s side. “I mean every word,” she says, “and I would pair them with action.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that very much,” sighs Sif.

Dany rolls her hips, giggling. “Mm, I’m glad,” she whispers. She bends to kiss Sif’s throat, scraping teeth across her skin before soothing the spot with her tongue.

Sif moans and presses against her. “That’s _very_ nice.”

“Good,” Dany says, repeating the pattern once, twice more before she brings her leg up against Sif’s center, shifts her hips suggestively.

The contact makes Sif moan again. “Ah, so that’s your intention,” she says playfully, rutting against Dany’s leg.

“Is that all right?” Dany asks, though she can guess the answer.

“More than.” Sif begins to grind herself against Dany, letting out whimpers and groans every so often.

Dany sighs happily, pressing yet closer to Sif and continuing to provide that friction. One of her hands slips between them, caresses Sif’s breasts in turn; the other stays against Sif’s back.

As Dany touches her, Sif arches her back to give her better access and continues to move against her, her breathing growing heavier as she gets closer. Finally she reaches her climax with a drawn-out moan, writhing in Dany’s arms before she melts against her.

“You’re beautiful,” Dany says, pressing a kiss to the skin behind Sif’s ear.

“Thank you,” gasps Sif, nuzzling Dany. “You have been so kind to me, Dany.”

“I had no reason not to be,” Dany muses.

“You trusted me, though I must have appeared nearly mad to you, talking about realms in the sky and women with magical voices. For that you have my unending gratitude.”

“I have heard enough strange stories, seen enough of them come true, to distrust them outright,” Dany explains. “And I - I would like to think that I have gotten better at judging character. So, or but, perhaps, you’re welcome.”

Sif kisses her on the lips again. “Well, you have the blessings of Asgard, Daenerys Targaryen.” She’s quiet a moment before adding, “I’d like to do the execution sooner than later, but I would like to lie here with you awhile longer.”

“I would like that too,” Dany says softly.

 

* * *

 

Sif surveys the scene before her. Lorelei kneels, the collar obstructing most of her face, though the rage in her eyes is still visible. One of Dany’s men holds the collar’s chain, his expression one of vague disappointment (likely targeted at Lorelei - he looks somewhat fatherly to Sif, as if poor behavior disappoints him regardless of the individual). Dany, Grey Worm, and Missandei stand off to the side, the latter two witnesses as much as (as Sif understands) a source of comfort for Dany.

Drawing her sword, Sif holds it for a moment and catches Lorelei’s eye, though Lorelei tries her best to avoid her gaze. “Lorelei,” she says, hoping her words will have the weight necessary for the ceremony, “you have been found guilty as traitor to Asgard and accomplice to the traitor Loki, as well as conspiring to conquer both Midgard and this realm. Your crimes are myriad and your treachery repeated, and as with the custom of Midgard you had been subject to a trial and sentenced to life in prison prior to escaping. Your punishment is now execution before witnesses, to be followed by disposal of your body on an Asgardian pyre without honor. Your name will never be spoken thereafter. This is the fate you have wrought for yourself, Lorelei.”

Lorelei shuts her eyes a moment, as if to collect her thoughts, and then before anyone can blink she makes to stand, squirming against her bonds. She is proud, but not too proud to accept her circumstance gracefully. It’s a futile attempt, given that she’s immediately tugged back down by the chain on her collar, and perhaps she knew that it would be, but it had to be made.

“Oh, Lorelei,” sighs Sif. “You had such potential. I remember, I would hear tales of your skills with magic and of how impressed the elder magicians were with you. Yet here you kneel, in disgrace, because of your foolish desires. Your name will be forgotten and your legacy, such as there is of it, will fade into nothingness.”

She turns to Dany. “Your Grace, as ruler of this city, do I have your permission to carry out an act of justice on behalf of the people of Asgard?”

Dany lifts her chin and in a flash she’s gone from the girl who invited an otherworldly warrior into her bed to Daenerys, Queen of Meereen. The only sign of her possible discomfort (which is not of itself great; she has been responsible for near-countless executions, though not of this sort exactly) is the way the hand closer to Missandei’s twitches faintly as if to suggest it might need held when the moment comes.

“You do, Lady Sif,” she announces, nodding coolly at the criminal.

Sif nods in response and lifts her sword. “I, Sif Allmother of Asgard, do this deed with witnesses present so that justice may be served.” Without further ado, she aims the sword and strikes Lorelei through the heart.

Though she does not ask for it, Dany finds herself glad of Missandei’s hand squeezing hers; she maintains her steely expression and does not look away, but even knowing that it is a punishment deserved twice-over she is the slightest bit taken aback by the suddenness of it. Missandei herself says nothing, turning her head to study her khaleesi’s expression and instead catching Grey Worm’s eye, Grey Worm who furrows his brow as if to ask after her own constitution in the moment. It is not the worst thing she has ever seen by far, though, and she shakes his concern away with the tiniest smile possible.

After taking a moment to ensure that Lorelei is well and truly dead, Sif pulls the blade from her body and cleans it with the cloth Dany has provided for her. Lorelei’s body has slumped to the floor, and she gives it one last pitying look before saying to Dany’s man, “Could you see about finding some sort of transportation for the body? I have only my horse, and we must go out into the desert to return to Asgard.”

He sniffs. “Something can be found,” he agrees. He turns to Daenerys to say, “May I have leave to go looking?”

Dany smiles almost sadly. “Of course,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

With a nod, he lets go of the chain he’s still pointlessly holding and exits, leaving the others standing around the body staring.

Sif is the first to compose herself and say, “My deepest thanks to you all for agreeing to act as witnesses. Ideally, I would have taken Lorelei back to Asgard for the execution, but my council and I agreed that time was of the essence. Instead, I will return with her body and we will set about making the arrangements for it. If Your Grace has no further need of you, you may go.” She glances at Dany to be sure her dismissal is permitted.

“Go,” Dany agrees, nodding gratefully to the others. “We will speak later.” She bids them farewell with slightly shaky smiles and watches as they leave, Grey Worm pausing respectfully to let Missandei step in front of him. Then, she turns to Sif. “You have completed your task,” she murmurs.

“I have,” replies Sif. “I am...adjusting to it.”

Dany worries her lip, stepping closer slowly. “And?” she asks.

“It is a strange feeling, to know that someone I have considered an enemy for so long is dead. She was...she was not always so arrogant and cruel. I have seen all too often how power can change the heart of a noble person.” Sif sighs. “It grieves me that I must leave you, Dany. And I hope that you will never be corrupted in this way.”

Dany matches that sigh, reaching for Sif’s hand and murmuring, “I understand all too well, and I - I intend to do everything I can to prevent it.” Especially given her family history, she knows all too well what one wrong move could cause, and she intends to be vigilant. “I admit, too,” she adds, trying for a smile, “that I wish your stay did not have to be so brief.”

“I will not do something so foolish as promise to return,” says Sif, smiling despite herself. “Thor could keep that promise to his Midgardian woman because he had not a fifth of the responsibilities I now do. Truth be told, I am unsure if I will be called to this realm again for many years. So I suspect this will be our last meeting, Daenerys Targaryen. However,” she adds, “if you or your people have need of me, only call and I will return as soon as I can.”

Curious somewhat in spite of herself, Dany tips her head and asks, “How might I do such a thing?”

“Oh, did I not explain? My brother Heimdall has the gift to watch over all worlds and all realms. He will hear you, Dany, if you call my name.” Sif chuckles. “Truth be told, he will probably make himself familiar with you after I return. He kept careful watch over Thor’s paramour until they were reunited.”

Dany swallows heavily, lifting her other hand to brush hair from Sif’s face. “Now _that_ is surely something from a song,” she whispers, trying to laugh.

“Not any that I know, but you are welcome to write one,” replies Sif, leaning down to kiss Dany’s forehead. “T’would make a fine ballad, I think.” She kisses Dany on the lips before saying, “Not only Asgard, but I, too, owe you my gratitude. For your shelter and food and...for a most wonderful night.”

“You are most welcome,” Dany hums, moving forward to rest her head against Sif’s chest though it’s impossibly sentimental. “Truthfully, I am like to count this night among the best in my life for years, perhaps as many as I’m given.”

Sif moves her hand to stroke Dany’s hair. “You honor me, Dany. And I must agree, you are one of the finest women I have ever met, let alone bedded.”

At first, Dany is unsure how to respond - the compliment is incredibly valuable of itself, but in this context… “I hope you will not think me foolish for holding onto those words to remember when I may need them,” she says.

“Not at all! I would hope my words are a great comfort to you, simple as they may be. I understand the need to hold onto them,” says Sif gently.

“Strange to think, this may be one of the least-complicated relationships I have had,” Dany muses, suddenly struck by the absurdity of that fact.

Sif laughs. “Well, I am glad to have provided something simpler for you. You’re deserving of simple joys sometimes.”

“As are you,” Dany replies. “I hope that some may present themselves to you, too.”

“Thank you. I’m sure they will, at some point,” says Sif wryly. “My time with you has been full of more joy than I have had in quite some time.”

Dany stands on her toes to press a kiss to Sif’s cheek, grinning. “Those too are words worth treasuring,” she declares.

Sif smiles. “You are kind, Dany. I will miss you.”

“And I you,” Dany murmurs, cursing the catch in her voice.

“Do not weep,” says Sif kindly. “I count myself lucky to have met you. You’re a lovely girl, noble and good-hearted. If half of the people of your world have anywhere near as much nobility as you, I suspect I will have no need to return for unpleasant reasons.”

“I can only hope,” Dany says wryly. “That they will - that unpleasant reasons will factor into none of it. I hope, too, that you will encounter few of them in your realm upon your return.”

“As do I. Though with Loki defeated, I think that Asgard will remain peaceful for a time. Your good wishes are much appreciated, though.” Sif tucks a stray lock of Dany’s hair behind her ear. “I fear I must go soon. Again, my eternal gratitude for your kindness and your...hospitality.”

Dany nods, rather forcing a brave smile. “I suppose that when you say eternal, it takes on a different meaning,” she jokes. She tips her head back just enough to watch the ceiling as she collects herself, as she wills her tears to dry. “You ought,” she agrees. “Your people await you.”

Sif, unnerved by Dany’s tears, leans down to kiss her on the lips again. “I will not forget you. I wish you a life filled with joy and triumph, Dany.”

“And I wish you all that you ever dream of,” Dany whispers, biting her lip and smiling as best she can manage.

“And I you,” replies Sif, lifting Dany’s hand to her mouth to kiss the back of it.

The gesture makes Dany giggle, if still shakily. “So courteous,” she observes.

“As a storybook hero should be,” teases Sif. She gazes at Dany for another moment before murmuring, “If I do not leave now, I will be tempted to neglect my duties and stay another night.”

“Flattering as that is, I know that such things are not appropriate,” Dany concedes, nodding encouragingly. “Return to your world and rule honorably, Sif. It is what is right.”

“It is,” Sif replies, but she finds she cannot keep the sadness out of her voice. “Then, farewell, Daenerys Targaryen. May you have the life you dream of.”

 

* * *

 

It is well into the night when Dany hears a faint knock at her door. She is not so foolish as to hope - so she just makes sure she is presentable and calls, “Who’s there?”

“Missandei, Your Grace,” returns Missandei. “May I…”

“Please,” Dany says, knowing that at least now she will not have to put on quite the same sort of show of fineness that she would for anyone else.

Missandei enters, a plate of fresh fruits in one hand and a worried frown fixed to her face. “Are you well, Your Grace?” she asks softly.

“These last days have been eventful,” Dany says with a sigh, unsure of what exactly Missandei suspects is causing her mood.

“Perhaps they were events that in part, you found yourself wishing to continue,” Missandei says diplomatically, sitting at the table across from her khaleesi.

“In part, yes,” Dany admits in a whisper. “I am not sure I wish to speak of them yet, recent an ache as they have caused, but may I ask you to listen when I do wish?”

“Of course you may,” Missandei declares, offering a smile.


End file.
